The Spacious¹ Firmament² on high，

    With all the blue Ethereal Sky，

    And spangled Heav'ns， a Shining Frame，

    Their great Original proclaim：

    Th' unwearied Sun， from day to day，

    Does his Creator's Pow'r display，

    And publishes to every Land

    The Work of an Almighty³ Hand.

    Soon as the Evening Shades prevail，

    The Moon takes up the wondrous⁴ Tale，

    And nightly to the list'ning 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 rowl，

    And spread the Truth from Pole to Pole.

    What though， in solemn Silence， all

    Move round the dark terrestrial Ball？

    What tho' nor real Voice nor Sound

    Amid their radiant Orbs⁵ be found？

    In Reason's Ear they all rejoice，

    And utter forth⁶ a glorious Voice，

    For ever singing， as they shine，

    The Hand that made us is Divine.