THERE is a book, who runs may read,
Which heav'nly truth imparts,
And all the lore its scholars need,
Pure eyes and Christian hearts.
The works of God above, below,
Within us and around,
Are pages in that book, to show
How God Himself is found.
The glorious sky, embracing all,
Is like the Maker's love,
Wherewith encompassed, great and small
In peace and order move.
The moon above, the Church below,
A wondrous race they run,
But all their radiance, all their glow,
Each borrows of its Sun.
The dew of heaven is like Thy grace
It steals in silence down;
But, where it lights, the favored place
By richest fruits is known.
The raging Fire, the roaring Wind,
Thy boundless power display;
But in the gentler breeze we find
The Spirit's viewless way.
Two worlds are ours: 'tis only sin
Forbids us to descry
The mystic heaven and earth within,
Plain as the sea and sky.
The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament showeth his handiwork.
—Psalm xix. 1.