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The Book of Praise.
Praise shall employ my nobler powers : My days of praise shall ne'er be past, While life and thought and being last,
Or immortality endures.
Isaac Watts. 17
XIII.
Psalm XIX.
The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth ; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings, as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What, though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball; What, though no real voice or sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found ; In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, For ever singing, as they shine, "The hand that made us is Divine,"
Joseph Addison. 1 |
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