Where stars pursue their endless ways,
We think we see, from earth’s low clod,
The wide and shining home of God.
’Tis vain to dream those tracts of space,
With all their worlds, approach His face:
One glory fills each wheeling ball—
One love has shaped and moved them all.
This earth, with all its dust and tears,
Is no less His than yonder spheres;
And rain-drops weak, and grains of sand,