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)