He also made the stars.
No twinkle. This is something terrible:
Flaming gas, explosive with bright thunder.
Scan the night sky, make a wish and wonder;
Yet it can destroy galaxies at will.
At will, He directs it. See it twinkle
Before Him, docile, obedient under
His hand. It knows His voice which flung unto
The farthest reaches, blazing, blazing, until –
He beckons in; He ushers out. All time
Is planned, is held in hand. And now He holds
That star – yes, that resplendent ball of flame,
From countless blazing sentries known by name,
From centuries, millennia untold,
And places it just so within His rhyme.