The harp at Nature's advent strung
Has never ceased to play;
The song the stars of morning sung
Has never died away.
And prayer is made, and praise is given,
By all things near and far;
The ocean looketh up to heaven,
And mirrors every star.
. . .
The blue sky is the temple's arch,
Its transept earth and air,
The music of its starry march
The chorus of a prayer.
-- John Greenleaf Whittier
(in Poetry of the Spirit, edited by Alan Jacobs)
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