blest voices, uttering joy—Heaven rung With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled The eternal regions. Lowly reverent Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground With solemn adoration down they cast Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold: Immortal amarant, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life, Began to bloom, but soon for Man’s offence To Heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows And flowers aloft, shading the Fount of Life, And where the River of Bliss through midst of Heaven Rolls o’er Elysian flowers her amber stream. With these that never fade the Spirits elect Bind their resplendent locks inwreathed with beams. Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone, Impurpled with celestial roses smiled. Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took, Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side Like quivers hung; and with preamble sweet Of charming symphony they introduce Their sacred song, and waken raptures high: No voice exempt, no voice but well could join Melodious part; such concord is in Heaven.
Thee, Father, first they sung, Omnipotent, Immutable, Immortal, Infinite, Eternal King; thee, Author of all being, Fountain of light, thyself invisible Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sitt’st Throned inaccessible, but when thou shadest The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear, Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest Seraphim Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes. Thee next they sang, of all creation first, Begotten Son, Divine Similitude, In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud Made visible, the Almighty Father shines, Whom else no creature can behold: on thee Impressed the effulgence of his glory abides; Transfused on thee his ample Spirit rests. He Heaven of Heavens, and all the powers therein, By thee created; and by thee threw down The aspiring Dominations. Thou that day Thy Father’s dreadful thunder didst not spare, Nor stop thy flaming chariot-wheels, that shook Heaven’s everlasting frame, while o’er the necks Thou drov’st of warring Angels disarrayed. Back from