Classic Poem

Happy choristers of air,
Who by your nimble flight draw near
His throne, whose wondrous story,
And unconfinèd glory
Your notes still carol, whom your sound
And whom your plumy pipes rebound.

Yet do the lazy snails no less
The greatness of our Lord confess.
And those whom weight hath chained,
And to the earth restrained,
Their ruder voices do as well,
Yea, and the speechless fishes tell.

Great Lord, from whom each tree receives,
Then pays again, as rent, his leaves;
Thou dost in purple set
The rose and violet
And gir'st the sickly lily white;
Yet in them all thy name dost write.