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.