Lift your eyes and look, who made these stars.
If not who drills them like an army.
Bright Venus, ringed Saturn, red Mars.
Look up all is eternal and quiet whilst here all is ephemeral and stormy.

Here in the city I am blinded by light pollution.
But in the Wolds I can see thousands of stars and galaxies.
Here is all present, there I look back to creation.
Here is reality, there I can indulge in fantasies.

Am I looking at random chance.
Or just immutable laws of physics.
This I believe at first glance.
Are we not now all cynics.

But a voice calls, who was the first mover.
It is his will that is eternal, the rest is just left over.