Who reigns on high; thou fruitful source
Of all our raiment, life, and food,
Our house, our parent, and our nurse.
Mighty stage of mortal scenes,
Drest with strong and gay machines,
Hung with golden lamps around,
And flowery carpets spread the ground—
Thou bulky globe, prodigious map,
That hangs unpillared in an empty space,
While thy unwieldly weight hangs in the feeble air,