The air was made to please
The souls of men: devouring fire
Doth feed and quicken man's desire.
The orb of light in its wide circuit moves,
Corn for our food springs out of very mire,
Our fuel grows in woods and groves;
Choice herbs and flowers aspire
To kiss our feet: beasts court our loves.[J]
How glorious is man's fate!
The laws of God, the works He did create,