The Stars are faintly trembling,
Far in the distant skies;
Ten thousand thousand scarce can show
Where the broad pathway lies.

The Moon, a barren maiden,
Now shines o'er wood and wold;
But cheerless is her borrowed light,
Cheerless, and chill, and cold.

The royal Sun is rising,
The King of light and day;
The Stars all fail, the Moon grows pale,
And darkness flies away!

Stars are the Light of Nature,
That heathen minds adore;
They view from far the trembling rays,
And groping sigh for more.

The Moon is barren Morals,
A cold and cheerless one;
Who borrows all the light she has,—
Borrows it from the Sun.

He is the King of Glory,
The Lord of Light and Day;
When o'er the soul His splendors roll,
All darkness flies away.