SKY.
Reading edition
Stand still, and consider the wondrous works of God.
Hast thou with him spread out the sky, which is strong, and as a molten looking-glass?—Job, xxxvii. 14, 18.
Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness.—Isaiah, xlv. 8.
When yonder glorious sky Lighted with million lamps, I contemplate; And turn my dazzled eye To this vain mortal state, All dim and visionary, mean and desolate, A mingled joy and grief Fills all my soul with dark solicitude; I find a short relief In tears, whose torrents rude Roll down my cheeks, or thoughts which then intrude. Thou bright, sublime abode! Temple of light, and beauty’s fairest shrine: My soul! a spark of God, Aspiring to thy seats divine, Why, why is it condemned in this dull cell to pine? For there, and there alone, Are peace, and joy, and never-dying love; There, on a splendid throne, ’Midst all those fires above, In glories and delights which never wane nor move. Oh, wondrous blessedness! Whose shadowy effluence hope o’er time can fling; Day that shall never cease, No night there threatening, No winter there to chill joy’s ever-during spring. Ye fields of changeless green Covered with living streams and fadeless flowers, Thou Paradise serene, Eternal, joyful hours My disembodied soul shall welcome in thy bowers. Luis Ponce de Leon, Spanish.