  Hail thou most sacred venerable thing! What Muse is worthy thee to sing? Thee, from whose pregnant universal womb All things, ev'n Light, thy rival, first did come. What dares he not attempt that sings of thee, Thou first and greatest mystery? Who can the secrets of thy essence tell? Thou, like the light of God, art inaccessible. Before great Love this monument did raise, This ample theatre of praise; Before the folding circles of the sky Were tuned by Him, Who is all harmony; Before the morning Stars their hymn began, Before the council held for man, Before the birth of either time or place, Thou reign'st unquestion'd monarch in the empty space. Thy native lot thou didst to Light resign, But still half of the globe is thine. Here with a quiet, but yet awful hand, Like the best emperors thou dost command. To thee the stars above their brightness owe, And mortals their repose below: To thy protection fear and sorrow flee, And those that weary are of light, find rest in thee. J. Norris of Bemerton |
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