Psalm 8 (Domine, Dominus noster)

O Lord that rul'st our mortall lyne,
How through the world thy name doth shine:
That hast of thine unmatched glory
Upon the heav'ns engrav'n the story.

From sucklings hath thy honor sprong,
Thy force hath flow'd from babies tongue,
Whereby thou stopp'st thine en'mies prating,
Bent to revenge and over hating.

When I upon the heav'ns do look,
Which all from thee their essence took;
When moon and starrs my thoughts beholdeth,
Whose life no life but of thee holdeth:

Then thinck I: ah, what is this man,
Whom that greate God remember can?
And what the race of him descended,
It should be ought of God attended.

For though in lesse then angell's state
Thou planted hast this earthly mate:
Yet hast thou made ev'n hym an owner
Of glorious crown, and crowning honor.

Thou placest hym upon all landes
To rule the workes of thyne own handes:
And so thou hast all things ordained,
That ev'n his feete, have on them raigned.

Thou under his dominion plac't
Both sheepe and oxen wholy hast:
And all the beastes for ever breeding,
Which in the fertill fieldes be feeding.

The bird, free-burgesse of the aire,
The fish, of sea the native heire;
And what things els of waters traceth
The unworn pathes, his rule embraceth.

O Lord, that rul'st our mortall lyne,
How through the world thy name doth shine.