Flying Fowl, and creeping Things, praise ye the Lord.
Psalm cxlviii. 10.
I.
Sweet flocks, whose soft enamel'd wing
Swift and gently cleaves the sky;
Whose charming notes address the spring
With an artless harmony.
Lovely minstrels of the field,
Who in leafy shadows sit,
And your wondrous structures build,
Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light;
To nature's God your first devotions pay,
E'er you salute the rising day,
'Tis he calls up the sun, and gives him every ray.
II.
Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide,
And wear upon your shining back
Num'rous ranks of gaudy pride,
Which thousand mingling colours make:
Let the fierce glances of your eyes
Rebate their baleful fire;
In harmless play twist and unfold
The volumes of your scaly gold:
That rich embroidery of your gay attire,
Proclaims your Maker kind and wise.
III.
Insects and mites, of mean degree,
That swarm in myriads o'er the land,
Moulded by wisdom's artful hand,
And curl'd and painted with a various die;
In your innumerable forms
Praise him that wears th'ethereal crown,
And bends his lofty counsels down
To despicable worms.
