The undesigning Hand of giddy Chance,
Could never fill with Globes of Light,
So beautiful, and so amazing Bright,
The lofty Concave of the vast Expanse;
These could proceed from no less Power than Infinite.
There's not one Atom of this wond'rous Frame,
Nor Essence Intellectual, but took
Existence, when the great Creator spoke,
And from the common Womb of empty Nothing came.
Let Substance be, He cry'd, and strait arose
Angelick, and Corporeal too,
All that Material Nature shows,
And what does Things Invisible compose,
At the same Instant sprung, and into Being flew.
Mount to the Convex of the highest Sphere,
Which draws a mighty Circle round
Th' interior Orbs, as their capacious Bound,
There Millions of new Miracles appear;
There dwell the eldest Sons of Power Immense,
Who first were to Perfection wrought,
First to compleat Existence brought,
To whom their Maker did dispense
The largest Portions of created Excellence.
Eternal now, not of Necessity,
As if they could not cease to be,
Or were from possible Destruction free.
But on the Will of God depend,
For that, which could begin, can end.
Who, when the lower Worlds were made,
Without the least Miscarriage, or Defect
By the Almighty Architect,
United Adoration paid,
And with Exstatick Gratitude his Laws obey'd.