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3o The Book of Praise.
Ye race, still less than these, with which
The stagnant water teems, To which one drop, however small,
A boundless ocean seems ;
Whate'er ye are, where'er ye dwell,
Ye creatures great or small, Adore the wisdom, praise the power,
That made and governs all.
And if ye want or sense or sounds,
To swell the grateful noise, Prompt mankind with that sense, and they
Shall find for you a voice.
From all the boundless realms of space
Let loud Hosannas sound ; Loud send, ye wondrous works of God,
The grateful concert round.
Philip Skelton. 1784.
The strain upraise of joy and praise,
Alleluia! To the glory of their King Shall the ransomed people sing,
Alleluia! And the choirs that dwell on high Shall re-echo through the sky,
Alleluia! They through the fields of Paradise who roam, The blessed ones, repeat through that bright home,