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 dress'd 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 borrow'd light

Are softer rivals of the noon, --

Arise, and to that Sovereign Power,

Waxing and waning, honours pay,

Who bade thee rule the dusky hour,

And half supply the absent day.

Ye twinkling Stars, who gild the skies

When darkness has its curtains 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 heavenly street,

Whose boundless treasures can afford

So rich a pavement for His feet.