Where these thick woods our shelter make?
Fly free and happy round thy nest;
Enslaved I wish none, none oppress’d.
Night, ancient goddess! Chaos thee
Produced before the sun;
And the last sun ’tis thine to see
When the world’s course is run;
And the Lord wills his work undone!
Hear me, while this life’s breath is raised,
By me thou shalt be loved and praised.