PARAPHRASE OF THE NINETEENTH PSALM

Who has not stood and silent gazed
Upon the countless orbs of light
Rolling in brightness through the sky
To gild and beautify the night;

Or seen at morn the burning wheels
That upward bear th' awakened sun,
Scattering the darkness from the path
In which his glorious race is run!

Like a decked bridegroom — on his brows
A dazzling crown of gems and gold —
He comes, and the far eastern waves
Leap up his glory to behold.

He mounts the heights of heaven, and like
A giant with a hundred hands,
Flings wide his gifts of light and life,
Beauty and joy, to distant lands;

And, when his mighty work is done,
Seeks his pavilion in the west,
And sinks in robes of radiant gold,
Mild and majestic, to his rest.