Our orb more lucid for thy spacious share

On earth’s rotundity; and is he not

A blind worm in the dust, great Deep, the man

Who sees not or who seeing has no joy

In thy magnificence? What though thou art

Unconscious and material, thou canst reach

The inmost immaterial mind’s recess,

And with thy tints and motion stir its chords

To music, like the light on Memnon’s lyre!

The Spirit of the Universe in thee