Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/401

 COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 263 �Praise Him, for that you so divided move ; Ye Hailstones, that you do no larger grow, Nor, in one solid Mass, oppress the World below. �Praise Him, ye soaring Fowls, still as you fly, �And on gay Plumes your Bodies raise; You Insects, which in dark Recesses lie, Altho' th' extremest Distances you try, Be reconcil'd in This, to offer mutual Praise. �Praise Him, thou Earth, with thy unbounded Store; �Ye Depths which to the Center tend: Praise Him ye Beasts which in the Forests roar; Praise Him ye Serpents, tho' you downwards bend, Who made your bruised Head our Ladder to ascend. �Praise Him, ye Men whom youthful Vigour warms; �Ye Children, hast'ning to your Prime; Praise Him, ye Virgins of unsullied Charms, With beauteous Lips becoming sacred Rhime: You Aged, give Him Praise for your encrease of Time. �Praise Him, ye Monarchs in supreme Command, �By Anthems, like the Hebrew Kings; Then with enlarged Zeal throughout the Land Reform the Numbers, and reclaim the Strings, Converting to His Praise, the most Harmonious Things. �Ye Senators presiding by our Choice, �And You Hereditary Peers! �Praise Him by Union, both in Heart and Voice; Praise Him, who your agreeing Council steers, Producing sweeter Sounds than the according Spheres. �Praise Him, ye native Altars of the Earth! Ye Mountains of stupendious size! ��� �