The stars cry the hallows of heaven.
They declare the name of our Creator.
The thin air on the peaks of the mountains,
Is the echoed glory of our Savior.
The purple-black sky is the shadow cast,
As His hand makes the planets to rotate.
He scatters the stars across future and past,
The chill of the wind declares, “He is great!”
O, our God! Your name is so powerful,
That my sinner’s tongue should not speak its sound.
Before You formed my bones, heart, and skull,
You forced fire from the rocky black ground.
You lifted islands from watery depths,
And You are the same God that gives me breath.