Fairest of all the lights above,
Thou sun, whose beams adorn the spheres,
And with unwearied swiftness move,
To form the circles of our years;
Praise the Creator of the skies,
That dressed thine orb in golden rays:
Or may the sun forget to rise,
If he forget his maker’s praise!
Thou reigning beauty of the night,
Fair queen of silence, silver moon,
Whose gentle beams, and borrowed light,
Are softer rivals of the noon;
Arise, and to that sovereign Power
Waxing and waning honors pay,
Who bade thee rule the dusky hours,
And half supply the absent day!
Ye twinkling stars, who gild the skies,
When darkness has its curtain drawn,
Who keep your watch with wakeful eyes,
When business, cares, and day, are gone;
Proclaim the glories of your Lord,
Dispersed through all the heav’nly street,
Whose boundless treasures can afford
So rich a pavement for His feet.
Thou Heav’n of heav’ns, supremely bright,
Fair palace of the court divine,
Where, with inimitable light,
The Godhead condescends to shine.
Praise thou thy great Inhabitant,
Who scatters lovely beams of grace
On every angel, every saint,
Nor veils the luster of His face.
O God of glory, God of love,
Thou art the sun that makes our days;
With all Thy shining works above
Let earth and dust attempt Thy praise!