That does not arouse thought.
No vain star, no meaningless quark,
No cell whose quest for life is overwrought.
It is in the resonance
Of every photon,
And every galaxy struggles valiantly
To shout out and draw his coat on.
Everything can be read,
No expanse of space lies fallow,
Even to the medieval mind
Lit by the merest tallow.
The Torah is shining,
It sparkles like fireworks in June,
It is the sun that one day
Will strike with its full blast upon the moon.
And you who are wise of heart,
You whose eyes are wide as saucers,
You who have ridden upon the backs of dolphins
And discovered all the Blakes and Chaucers,
Will read the Torah in the firmament
And every resonating string
And every theory of frothing space
And every ptesosaur’s feathered wing,
Because everything is the word of God,
Because the night is a patch of His robe,
And His words are swimming in the Amazon’s mud
And in every nascent, fizzing globe.
And then turn in from the night
From the star-speckled field,
For some light may be seen,
Yet still more is concealed.