Chapter 43

Like a jewel the vault of heaven is set above us; the sight of it is glory made visi-ble.

Plain to our view is the sun’s passage as it shines out, a very masterpiece of his workmanship, who is the most High.

How it burns up the earth at noon-day! How fierce its glow, beyond all endurance! Tend thou the furnace, heat is thy daily portion;

yet three times hotter the sun, as it burns up the hill-side, scorching all with its fiery breath, blinding men’s eyes with its glare.

Swiftly it speeds on its course, to do the bidding of the Lord, its glorious maker.

The moon, too, that keeps tryst so faithfully, ever marking how the seasons change,

and giving the signal when feast days come round! The moon, whose light must decrease till it vanishes,

and then increase to the full circle, the month its name-child;

cresset of a watch-fire that lights up the high vault of heaven with its radiant glow.

And the stars that deck the sky with their splendour, a beacon-light the Lord kindles high above us;

the summons of his holy word answering so loyally, watching so patiently at their post!

Look up at the rainbow, and bless the maker of it; how fair are those bright colours

that span heaven with a ring of splendour, traced by an almighty hand.

Swift comes the snow at his word, swift flashes the fire that executes his vengeance;

he has but to unlock his store-house, and the clouds hover, bird-fashion,

arsenals of his might, whence the pounded hail-stones fall.

How his glance makes the hills tremble! Blows the south wind at his bidding,

earth echoes with the crash of his thunder; blows the north wind, and there is whirling storm.

Soft as roosting bird falls the snow, spread all around; not more silently comes locust-swarm to earth;

what eye but is captivated by its pale beauty, what heart but is filled with terror at the dark cloud that brings it?

He it is pours out the frost, that lies white as salt on the earth, the frozen earth that seems covered with thistle-down.

Cold blows the north wind, and ice forms on the water; no pool but it rests there, arming the water as with a breast-plate;

frost gnaws at the mountain-side, parches the open plains, strips them, as fire might have stripped them, of their green.

Remedy for all these is none, but the speedy coming of the mist; frost shall be overmastered by the showers the sirocco drives before it,

and at the Lord’s word the chill blast dies away. What else but divine wisdom tamed the rising of the seas,2 and planted the islands there?

Hear we what perils in the deep mariners have to tell of, and wonder at the tale;

of the great marvels it contains, living things a many, both fierce and harmless, and monstrous creatures besides.

Who but the Lord brought the venture to a happy issue? His word gives all things their pattern.

Say we as much as we will, of what needs to be said our words come short; be this the sum of all our saying, He is in all things.

To what end is all our boasting?4 He, the Almighty, is high above all that he has made;

he, the Lord, is terrible, and great beyond compare, and his power is wonderful.

Glorify him as best you may, glory is still lacking, such is the marvel of his greatness;

praise him and extol him as you will, he is beyond all praising;

summon all your strength, the better to exalt his name, untiring still, and you shall not reach your goal.

Who can tell us what he is from sight seen of him? Who can magnify his eternal being?

Much more lies beyond our ken; only the fringe of creation meets our view;

and of all things the Lord is maker. Yet, live thou in the worship of him, wisdom thou shalt have for thy reward.