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The Book of Praise.
Though their voices lower be, Streams have too their melody ; Night and day they warbling run, Never pause, but still sing on.
All the flowers that gild the spring Hither their still music bring ; If Heaven bless them, thankful they Smell more sweet, and look more gay.
Only we can scarce afford This short office to our Lord; We, on whom His bounty flows, All things gives, and nothing owes.
Wake, for shame, my sluggish heart, Wake, and gladly sing thy part; Learn of birds, and springs, and flowers, How to use thy nobler powers.
Call whole nature to thy aid, Since 'twas He whole nature made ; Join in one eternal song, Who to one God all belong.
Live for ever, glorious Lord ! Live, by all Thy works ador'd ! One in Three, and Three in One, Thrice we bow to Thee alone !
John Austin. 1668. |
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