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517 Rapture (Second)


Begin, my soul, th'exalted lay,
Let each enraptured thought obey,
And praise th'Almighty's name:
Lo! heav'n, and earth, and seas and skies,
In one melodious concert rise
To swell th'inspiring theme.

Thou heav'n of heav'ns, His vast abode,
Ye clouds, proclaim your Maker God;
Ye thunders, speak His pow'r:
Lo! on the lightning's fiery wing,
In triumph walks th'eternal King,
Th'astonish'd worlds adore.

Ye deeps, with roaring billows rise
To join the thunders of the skies,
Praise Him who bids you roll;
His praise in softer notes declare,
Each whisp'ring breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the soul.

Wake, all ye soaring throng, and sing,
Ye feathered warblers of the spring
Harmonious anthems raise
To Him who shaped your finer mould,
Who tipped your glitt'ring wings with gold
And tuned your voice to praise.

Let man, by nobler passions swayed,
Let man, in God's own image made,
His breath in praise employ;
Spread wide his Maker's name around,
Till heav'n shall echo back the sound
In songs of holy joy.

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