“Let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.”—Psalm 72:19
There was a time when every star was bright; when all space was filled with loveliness, when holiness, purity, and happiness, were like a robe which mantled the entire creation. This world itself was once fair and lovely—so fair and lovely that we who live in these erring times can scarcely guess its beauty. It was the house of song, and the dwelling-place of praise. If it had no pre-eminence among its sister spheres, certainly it was inferior to none of them, surrounded with beauty, girt with gladness, and having in it holy and heavenly inhabitants. It was a house to which the angels themselves loved to resort, where the holy spirits, the morning stars, delighted to sing together over this beautiful and fair earth of ours. But now how changed! how different!
Now it is our duty devoutly to bend our knees and pray that the whole earth may yet be filled with his glory. In one sense this prayer is still unnecessary, for in a certain sense the whole earth is filled with God’s glory. “All thy works praise thee, O God,” is as true now as it was in paradise. The stars still sing their Maker’s praise; no sin hath stopped their voice, no discord hath made a jarring note among the harmonies of the spheres. The earth itself still praiseth its Maker, the exhalations, as they arise with morn, are still a pure offering, acceptable to their Maker.
The lowing of the cattle, the singing of the birds, the leaping of the fishes, and the delights of animal creation, are still acceptable as votive offerings to the Most High. The mountains still bring righteousness; on their hoary summits God’s holy feet might tread, for they are yet pure and spotless. Still do the green valleys, laughing with their verdure send up their shouts to the Most High.
The praise of God is sung by every wind it is howled forth in dread majesty by the voice of the tempest, the winds resound it, and the waves, with their thousand hands, clap, keeping chorus in the great march of God. The whole earth is still a great orchestra for God’s praise, and his creatures still take up various parts in the eternal song, which, ever swelling and ever increasing, shall by-and-by mount to its climax in the consummation of all things. In that sense, therefore, the prayer is still inappropriate. God, who filleth all in all, and filleth earth and heaven, needeth not to have more glory, as to the essence of his glory; for still he is glorified in the whole earth.
(Taken From C. H. Spurgeon April 26, 1857 Sermon: David’s Dying Prayer)
The stars still sing their Maker’s praise;
no sin hath stopped their voice,
no discord hath made a jarring note among
the harmonies of the spheres. The earth
itself still praiseth its Maker,
the exhalations, as they arise with morn,
are still a pure offering,
acceptable to their Maker.
*Emphasis Mine-Pictures Not Mine.