When I behold the golden lamps of night Like high-swung censers smoldering in the depths Of darkness measureless, As if to light the way through endless space For spinning sister worlds to navigate Toward a destination felt, not seen, I marvel at the might of Him who guides. When I can feel beneath my burning feet The cool green of the tender springing grass, And in the chestnut buds Can see the armoured sheath and woolly nest Which guard th'incipient seed and spreading leaf, I marvel at the lowliness of Him Who stoops from stars to little blades of grass.
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