O sacred Providence, who from end to end

Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write,

And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend

To hold my quill? shall they not do thee right?

Of all the creatures both in sea and land

Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes,

And put the penne alone into his hand,

And made him Secretarie of thy praise.

Beasts fain would sing; birds dittie to their notes;

Trees would be tuning on their native lute

To thy renown: but all their hands and throats

Are brought to Man, while they are lame and mute.

Man is the worlds high Priest: he doth present

The sacrifice for all; while they below

Unto the service mutter an assent,

Such as springs use that fall, and windes that blow.

He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain,

Doth not refrain unto himself alone,

But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain,

And doth commit a world of sinne in one.

The beasts say, Eat me: but, if beasts must teach,

The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise.

The trees say, Pull me: but the hand you stretch,

Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise.

Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present

For me and all my fellows praise to thee:

And just it is that I should pay the rent,

Because the benefit accrues to me.

We all acknowledge both thy power and love

To be exact; transcendent, and divine;

Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move,

While all things have their will, yet none but thine.

For either thy command, or thy permission

Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left.

The first puts on with speed and expedition;

The other curbs sinnes stealing pace and theft.

Nothing escapes them both; all must appeare,

And be dispos'd, and dress'd, and tun'd by thee,

Who sweetly temper'st all. If we could heare

Thy skill and art, what musick would it be!

Thou art in small things great, not small in any:

Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall.

Thou art in all things one, in each thing many:

For thou art infinite in one and all.