Each leaf, flower, fruit intones a hymn of praise, like bard.
“Thou, Giver of all good things, nourishedst my root.
And madest me become a strongly growing shoot.”
Our souls, shut up in prison in our frames of clay,
So break forth into raptures when they’re called away.465
They dance for very joy, from love of God Allwise,
When, like full moon perfected, they in glory rise.
Material beings, thus, their dance perform, and souls.
Ask not of them the subject of their hyperboles.
The hare had lodged the lion in a dungeon safe.