tr., John Brownlie
age moi psucha
Up, up, my soul, on wings of praise,
No other service know;
In holy strains the love express
That fires the heart below.
Burn, burn, my soul, and ever be
With holy ardour fired,
And, strongly armed with firm resolve,
Be evermore inspired.
Pour forth a bloodless offering
Of hymns and holy lauds,
And weave a garland rich and fair
To crown the King of gods.