My soule praise the Lord, speake good of his Name,
O Lord our great God how doest thou appeare,
So passing in glorie, that great is thy fame,
Honour and majestie, in thee shine most cleare.

His chamber beames lie, in the clouds full fure,
Which as his chariot, are made him to beare.
And there with much switness his course doth endure:
Upon the wings riding, of winds in the aire.