All my notes so-called crowd to tongue thy praise Who are the template of surpassing note for all my lays. Much pleasure has the singer who sings of thee Whose sweet subject trills when urgentest songs must lag 5 And by his poverty thus proves the worth of thee--- Opposite the lark, who praises dank night with prodigality And makes his listeners shut eyes to see dreams, All your choir but begs to your picture see. How much more then should I sing of thee? 10 Let song-birds out-lung cannons, you'd more deserve; And more deserve than this unbreathing ink Can give, which but takes the breath of each downturned eye And makes it raise your praises in spite of time, Which shall all thy praise and praisers too confound betime.
From the collection "Hymns"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.