Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,

Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise.

Join voices all ye living souls: ye birds,

That singing up to heaven’s gate ascend,

Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise;

Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk the earth,

And stately tread, or lowly creep;

Witness if I be silent morn or even,

To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,

Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise.