Park Benjamin (1809–1864)

WHAT marvel is it, that, in other lands

And ancient days, men worshipped the divine

And brilliant majesty of stars that shine

Pure in their lofty spheres, like angel-bands?

With a deep reverence, when evening came,

With her high train of shadows, have I bowed

Beneath the heaven, as each new-lighted flame

Glowed in the sapphire free from mist or cloud:

A holy presence seemed to fill the air,

Invisible spirits, such as live in dreams,

Came floating down on their celestial beams,

And from my heart there rose a silent prayer.

What marvel, then, that men of yore could see

In each bright star a glorious deity?