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Treasury of Sacred Song
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CXLVIII

THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEVOTION:
THE SONG OF BATHYNOUS

Sing aloud, His praise rehearse,

Who hath made the Universe.

He the boundless Heavens has spread,

All the vital Orbs has kned170170kned, knit;

He that on Olympus high

Tends His flocks171171flocks, the stars with watchful eye,

And this eye172172eye, sun has multiplied

Midst each flock for to reside:

Thus as round about they stray,

Toucheth each with out-stretch'd ray;

Nimble they hold on their way,

Shaping out their Night and Day.

Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring,

Their inclinéd Axes bring.

Never slack they; none respires,

Dancing round their central fires.

In due order as they move,

Echoes sweet be gently drove

Thorough Heaven's vast hollowness,

Which unto all corners press:

Music that the heart of Jove173173Jove, used for Jehovah

Moves to joy and sportful love;

Fills the listening Sailors' ears

Riding on the wandering spheres.

Neither Speech nor Language is

Where their voice is not transmiss.174174transmiss, sent through

GOD is Good, is Wise, is Strong,

Witness all the creature-throng,

Is confess'd by every tongue.

All things back from whence they sprung,

As the thankful rivers pay

What they borrow'd of the sea.

Now myself I do resign;

Take me whole, I all am thine.

Save me, GOD! from Self-desire,

Death's pit, dark Hell's raging fire,

Envy, Hatred, Vengeance, Ire:

Let not Lust my soul bemire.

Quit from these, Thy praise I'll sing,

Loudly sweep the trembling string.

Bear a part, O Wisdom's sons!

Freed from vain Religïons.

Lo! from far I you salute,

Sweetly warbling on my lute,

Indie, Egypt, Araby,

Asia, Greece, and Tartary,

Carmel-tracts and Lebanon,

With the Mountains of the Moon,

From whence muddy Nile doth run;

Or where ever else you won175175won, abide

Breathing in one vital air,

One we are, though distant far.

Rise at once let's sacrifice,

Odours sweet perfume the skies.

See how heavenly lightning fires

Hearts inflamed with high aspires!

All the substance of our souls

Up in clouds of incense rolls.

Leave we nothing to ourselves,

Save a voice, what need we else?

Or an hand to wear and tire

On the thankful lute or lyre.

Sing aloud, His praise rehearse

Who hath made the Universe.


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