I Fairest of all the lights above,
Thou sun, whose beams adorn the spheres,
And with unweary'd swiftness move,
To form the circles of the years;
II Praise the Creator of the skies,
That dress'd thine orb in golden rays:
Or may the sun forget to rise,
If he forget his Maker's praise.
III Thou reigning beauty of the night,
Fair queen of silence, silver moon,
Whose gentle beams and borrow'd light,
Are softer rivals of the moon;
IV Arise, and to that Sov'reign power
Waxing and waining honours pay,
Who bid thee rule the dusky hour,
And half supply the absent day.
V Ye twinkling stars who gild the skies,
When darkness has its curtains drawn,
Who keep your watch with wakeful eyes,
When business, cares, and day are gone;
VI Proclaim the glories of your Lord,
Disperss'd through all the heav'nly street,
Whose boundless treasures can afford,
So rich a pavement for his feet.
VII Thou heav'n of heav'ns, supremely bright,
Fair palace of the court divine,
Where, with inimitable light,
The Godhead condescends to shine;
VIII Praise thou thy great Inhabitant,
Who scatters lovely beams of grace
On every angel, every saint;
Nor veils the lustre of his face.
IX O God of glory, God of love,
Thou art the sun that makes our days:
With all thy shining works above,
Let earth and dust attempt thy praise.