Fairest of nars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling monz
With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge 'Him thy greater, found his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'ft,
And when high noon haft gain'd, and when thou fall.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies,
And ye five other wand'ring fires that move
In my stic dance, not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call’d up light.
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth
Or Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye Mifts and Exhalations that now rife
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rise !
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling howers,
Rising or falling still advance his pra se.
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud, and wave your tops, ye Pincs, ,
With every plant, in sign of worthip wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flot,
Melodious 'murmurs ! wartling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living Souls; ye Birds,