The star­ry fir­ma­ment on high,
And all the glo­ries of the sky,
Yet shine not to Thy praise, O Lord,
So bright­ly as Thy writ­ten word.
The hopes that ho­ly word sup­plies,
Its truths di­vine and pre­cepts wise—
In each a heav’n­ly beam I see,
And ev­ery beam con­ducts to Thee.

When, taught by pain­ful proof to know
That all is va­ni­ty below,
The sin­ner roams from com­fort far,
And looks in vain for sun or star,
Soft gleam­ing then those lights di­vine
Through all the cheer­less dark­ness shine,
And sweet­ly to his rav­ished eye
Disclose the day-spring from on high.

The heart in sen­su­al fet­ters bound,
And barren as the win­try ground,
Confesses, Lord, thy quick­en­ing ray—
Thy word can charm the spell away,
With ge­ni­al influence can be­guile
The froz­en wil­der­ness to smile;
Bid liv­ing waters o’er it flow,
And all be pa­ra­dise bel­ow.

Almighty Lord! the sun shall fail,
The moon for­get her night­ly tale,
And deep­est si­lence hush on high,
The ra­di­ant chor­us of the sky.
But, fixed, for ev­er­last­ing years,
Unmoved amid the wreck of spheres,
Thy word shall shine in cloud­less day,
When Heav’n and earth have passed away.