1 The harp at Nature’s advent strung has never ceased to play;
the song the stars of morning sung
has never died away.

2 The prayer is made, and praise is given,
by all things near and far;
the ocean looketh up to heaven
and mirrors every star.

3 The green earth sends sweet incense up
from many mountain shrines;
from folded leaf and dewy cup
now pours the sacred wine.

4 The blue sky is the temple’s arch,
its transept, earth and air;
the music of its starry march,
the chorus of a prayer.

5 So nature keeps the reverent frame
with which all years begin;
and nature’s signs and voices shame
the prayerless heart within.