The poem
Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one Spake, might the word be said that might speak thee. Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea, What power is in them all to praise the sun? His praise is this--he can be praised of none. Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he Exults not to be worshiped, but to be. He is; and, being, beholds his work well done. All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth, Are his; without him, day were night on earth. Time knows not his from time's own period. All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres, Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires. All stars are angels; but the sun is God.
It opened my heart gave me strength and encouraged my parners at work