The Sun-Dial

The shadows of the gnomon
Creep around the sun-dial's face,
To mark specific hours
Upon each numbered place.

It never works when skies are gray,
It hob-nobs with the sun,
There are no working parts within,
No key to make it run.

It was fashioned by God's wisdom,
Conceived within a plan,
Exerting precise precision
Until defaced by man.