John Fletcher. Hymn to Pan. {Sing his praises]

John Fletcher

Hymn to Pan
SING his praises that doth keep
    Our flocks from harm,
Pan, the father of our sheep ;
    And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the music with her sound.

Pan, O great god Pan, to thee
    Thus do we sing !
Thou who keep’st us chaste and free
    As the young spring :
Ever be thy honour spoke
From that place the morn is broke
To that place day doth unyoke !

Source:
The Oxford Book of English Verse.
Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1919. 237.