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 Cock, he, more than other birds

Way through ether winging,

Heareth high above the clouds

Choirs Angelic singing;

Thus he warns us cast away

Evil word and doing,

Thoughts and joys of things above

Evermore ensuing.

On his head a royal crown,

Like a king, he beareth;

On his foot a shapely spur,

Like a knight, he weareth;

Waxeth golden more and more

As in age he groweth;

And the lion quakes with fear,

When by night he croweth.

Thus they spur the idle on,

On their warfare bowning,

Thus marks His heritage,

By the tonsure crowning;

As they wax in age their crowns

Should but shine more glorious,

And the Lion-foe should quake

At their shout victorious.