I
Ye hidden nectars, which my God doth drink,
Ye heavenly streams, ye beams divine,
On which the angels think,
How quick, how strongly do ye shine!
Ye images of joy that in me dwell,
Ye sweet mysterious shades
That do all substances excel,
Whose glory never fades;
Ye skies, ye seas, ye stars, or things more fair,
O ever, ever unto me repair!