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.

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