Classic Poem

PARAPHRASED .

The glory of the lofty height,
The firmament serenely bright,
The dazzling splendours of the sun
Declaring God's own work begun;
That beaming orb to which is given
To lead the armies of the Heaven;
And the pale moon, in high array
Decreasing in her perfect ray,
And pouring forth a mellower light
On the dark shadows of the night;
And every pure etherial cloud,
Which seems th' Almighty throne to shroud,
And flings its veil across the sky,
As if to guard from earthly eye
The lustre of each glorious star,
Shining more soften'd from afar;
Each in their own impervious place
Running their appointed race;
By the Holy One's command
Impell'd by his almighty hand;
Sweeping round with constant force,
Never fainting in their course;
Who these regions can explore,
Who behold and not adore?
Look upon heaven's beauteous bow,
Praise Him who taught its hues to glow,
Whose hands the radiant arch did bend,
And bade the rival colors blend;
Who sent his lightning's vivid scroll,
Quick as thought fleets thro' the soul;
Soon as felt 'tis past away,
Spark of a celestial ray!
Who pour'd his deep resounding thunder,
Filling mortal ears with wonder.
At whose sight the mountains shake,
And all earth begins to quake;
Who rides upon the northern storm,
And in the whirlwind hides his form;
Who scattereth snow down from on high,
Like winter birds that skim the sky;
And dazzleth the astonish'd sight,
With its glittering spotless white,
'Till mortal heart owns, inly aw'd,
These are indeed the works of God:
How wide in their eternal range
Are they! How glorious and how strange!
They are surprising thro' the land,
BuThe is terrible and grand! —
And all Creation bows to own
ThaThe Himself is God alone!

PARAPHRASED .

The glory of the lofty height,
The firmament serenely bright,
The dazzling splendours of the sun
Declaring God's own work begun;
That beaming orb to which is given
To lead the armies of the Heaven;
And the pale moon, in high array
Decreasing in her perfect ray,
And pouring forth a mellower light
On the dark shadows of the night;
And every pure etherial cloud,
Which seems th' Almighty throne to shroud,
And flings its veil across the sky,
As if to guard from earthly eye
The lustre of each glorious star,
Shining more soften'd from afar;
Each in their own impervious place
Running their appointed race;
By the Holy One's command
Impell'd by his almighty hand;
Sweeping round with constant force,
Never fainting in their course;
Who these regions can explore,
Who behold and not adore?
Look upon heaven's beauteous bow,
Praise Him who taught its hues to glow,
Whose hands the radiant arch did bend,
And bade the rival colors blend;
Who sent his lightning's vivid scroll,
Quick as thought fleets thro' the soul;
Soon as felt 'tis past away,
Spark of a celestial ray!
Who pour'd his deep resounding thunder,
Filling mortal ears with wonder.
At whose sight the mountains shake,
And all earth begins to quake;
Who rides upon the northern storm,
And in the whirlwind hides his form;
Who scattereth snow down from on high,
Like winter birds that skim the sky;
And dazzleth the astonish'd sight,
With its glittering spotless white,
'Till mortal heart owns, inly aw'd,
These are indeed the works of God:
How wide in their eternal range
Are they! How glorious and how strange!
They are surprising thro' the land,
BuThe is terrible and grand! —
And all Creation bows to own
ThaThe Himself is God alone!