The Treasury Of Sacred Song

You Spirits! who have thrown away

That envious weight of clay,

Which your celestial flight denied:

Who by your glorious troops supply

The wingéd Hierarchy,

So broken in the Angels' pride!

O you! whom your Creator's sight

Inebriates with delight!

Sing forth the triumphs of His name

All you enamour'd souls! agree

In a loud symphony,

To give expressions to your flame!

To Him, His own great works relate,

Who deign'd to elevate

You 'bove the frailty of your birth:

Where you stand safe from that rude war,

With which we troubled are

By the rebellion of our earth.

While a corrupted air beneath

Here in this world we breathe,

Each hour some passion us assails:

Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,

Or that it may seem good,

Itself in wit or beauty veils.

Then envy circles us with hate,

And lays a siege so streight,

No heavenly succour enters in:

But if revenge admittance find,

For ever hath the mind

Made forfeit of itself to sin.

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise

Our minds to think His praise,

Who is eternal and immense?

How dare we force our feeble wit

To speak Him infinite,

So far above the search of sense?

O you! who are immaculate

His name may celebrate

In your soul's bright expansión:

You whom your virtues did unite

To His perpetual light,

That even with Him you now shine one.