  When I survey the bright Celestial sphere: So rich with jewels hung, that night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear; My soul her wings doth spread, And heaven-ward flies, The Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies. For the bright firmament Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name. No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a character, Removed far from our human sight, But if we steadfast look, We shall discern In it as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn. It tells the Conqueror, That far-stretch'd power Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour. That from the farthest North Some nation may Yet undiscover'd issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway. Some nation yet shut in With hills of ice, May be let out to scourge his sin, Till they shall equal him in vice. And then they likewise shall Their ruin have; For as yourselves your Empires fall, And every Kingdom hath a grave. Thus those celestial fires, Though seeming mute, The fallacy of our desires And all the pride of life, confute. For they have watch'd since first The World had birth: And found sin in itself accursed, And nothing permanent on earth. W. Habington |
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