O WORLDS that flame in yon blue sky,
God's watch-fires on His outposts far;—
O silver path that leads on high,
Whose shining dust is many a star,
Are ye but vacant worlds that swing
Eternal thru the realms of space,
And with your ceaseless rhythm sing
Of One who gave you matchless grace?
Could He who formed this tiny sphere,
And gave it man to be its king,
Form all thy systems, far and near,
And place none there His praise to sing?
Have not mine eyes read words of love,
On scroll divine, a message deep,
"Rejoice, ye dwellers in heavens above,"
Great worlds that past the white throne
sweep?
Ye nine and ninety in the fold,
Where breaks no heart with each clock-beat,
And sinless souls shall ne'er grow old,
But deathless dwell in union sweet,
I know that He who framed this star,
To be the home of creatures fair,
Formed not in vain thy worlds afar.
God in His love placed dwellers there.