Father and King of Powers both high and low,
  Whose sounding fame all creatures serve to blow;
  My soul shall with the rest strike up thy praise,
  And carol of thy works, and wondrous ways. 
  But who can blaze thy beauties, Lord, aright? 
  They turn the brittle beams of mortal sight. 
  Upon thy head thou wear’st a glorious crown,
  All set with virtues, polished with renown: 
  Thence round about a silver veil doth fall
  Of crystal light, mother of colours all. 
  The compass, heaven, smooth without grain or fold,
  All set with spangs of glittering stars untold,
  And striped with golden beams of power unpent,
  Is raised up for a removing tent
  Vaulted and arched are his chamber beams
  Upon the seas, the waters, and the streams;
  The clouds as chariots swift do scour the sky;
  The stormy winds upon their wings do fly
  His angels spirits are, that wait his will;
  As flames of fire his anger they fulfil. 
  In the beginning, with a mighty hand,
  He made the earth by counterpoise to stand,
  Never to move, but to be fixed still;
  Yet hath no pillars but his sacred will. 
  This earth, as with a veil, once covered was;
  The waters overflowed all the mass;
  But upon his rebuke away they fled,
  And then the hills began to show their head;
  The vales their hollow bosoms opened plain,
  The streams ran trembling down the vales again;
  And that the earth no more might drowned be,
  He set the sea his bounds of liberty;
  And though his waves resound and beat the shore,
  Yet it is bridled by his holy lore. 
  Then did the rivers seek their proper places,
  And found their heads, their issues, and their races;
  The springs do feed the rivers all the way,
  And so the tribute to the sea repay: 
  Running along through many a pleasant field,
  Much fruitfulness unto the earth they yield;
  That know the beasts and cattle feeding by,
  Which for to slake their thirst do thither hie. 
  Nay, desert grounds the streams do not forsake,
  But through the unknown ways their journey take;
  The asses wild that hide in wilderness,
  Do thither come, their thirst for to refresh. 
  The shady trees along their banks do spring,
  In which the birds do build, and sit, and sing,
  Stroking the gentle air with pleasant notes,
  Plaining or chirping through their warbling throats. 
  The higher grounds, where waters cannot rise,
  By rain and dews are watered from the skies,
  Causing the earth put forth the grass for beasts,
  And garden-herbs, served at the greatest feasts,
  And bread that is all viands’ firmament,
  And gives a firm and solid nourishment;
  And wine man’s spirits for to recreate,
  And oil his face for to exhilarate. 
  The sappy cedars, tall like stately towers,
  High flying birds do harbour in their