When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers,
the moon and the stars which You have ordained,
I am quieted. What is man, that You are mindful of him?
What am I, that You should remember?
You made the sky a tent for the night,
and stretched it out with a word.
You scattered the stars as a shepherd scatters a flock,
and not one is missing at morning.
Yet You have crowned the son of dust with glory,
and set him beneath the angels for a little while.
You visit him; You know his name;
You have not forgotten the creature of the earth.
O Lord, our Lord,
how majestic is Your name
in every quiet place
where the heavens have spoken it.
July 30, 2026