What a glorious sight
Is presented each night
As the heavens above westward plod;
Wearing sparkling array
In an awesome display
Of the wisdom and glory of God.
They speak never a word
Yet their voices are heard
In a language all men understand;
As each night they are whirled
‘Round a wondering world
By the touch of their Creator’s hand.
What a sermon they preach
With their passive speech
Truth that only a fool would deny;
Yet so many don’t care
What the heavens declare
From their pulpit above in the sky.
What the heavens proclaim
Every night is the same
As when first their procession began;
And though light years away
We can hear what they say
In declaring God’s glory to man.