When I beheld the splendour of the night,
And all the misty myriad of her stars,
Forever swinging on their paths of light,
Far out beyond our system’s narrow bars,
I marvelled that the glory of God’s birth
Had fallen only on this little earth.
Infinite condescension, that could raise
The least to be most blessed. God can bring
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings praise.
This late-born infant of the sky shall sing
A music sweeter than her sister spheres;
Incarnate love, while heaven in wonder hears.