POETRY: Flying Fowl, And Creeping Things, Praise Ye The Lord by Isaac Watts

Flying Fowl, And Creeping Things, Praise Ye The Lord by Isaac Watts

Mountains, and all hills; fruitful trees, and all cedars: Beasts, and all cattle; creeping things, and flying fowl. (Psalm 148:9-10)

Sweet flocks, whose soft enamel’s wing
Swift and gently cleaves the sky;
Whose charming notes address the spring
With an artless harmony.
Lovely minstrels of the field,
Who in leafy shadows sit,
And your wondrous structures build,
Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light;
To nature’s God your first devotions pay,
E’er you salute the rising day,
‘Tis he calls up the sun, and gives him every ray.

Serpents who o’er the meadows slide,
And wear upon your shining back
Numerous ranks of gaudy pride,
Which thousand mingling colors make
Let the fierce glances of your eyes
Rebate their baleful fire;
In harmless play twist and unfold
The volumes of your scaly gold;
That rich embroidery of your gay attire,
Proclaim your Maker kind and wise.

Insects and mites, of mean degree,
That swarm in myriads o’er the land,
Molded by wisdom’s artful hand,
And curled and painted with a various die;
In your innumerable forms
Praise him that wears th’ ethereal crown,
And bends his lofty counsels down
To despicable worms.

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