Mobility of the Sun

My Lord, you are the Poet, Who notes me with thy strong hands. I can only aspire to know it And extend thy word to all known lands. You have set in me for the sun A tabernacle for his regal throne, From which he arises for his daily run Throughout heaven's every zone. Each morn I await his excellent ascent. Onward with his golden lamp of God, He begins at one end of the firmament And runs on with the light of Aaron's rod.