In preparation for the Chymical wedding

Rejoice dear bird 

And praise thy Maker, 

Raise bright and clear thy voice, 

Thy God is most exalted, 

Thy food he hath prepared for thee 

To give thee in due season. 

So be content therewith, 

Wherefore shalt thou not be glad, 

Wilt thou arraign thy God 

That he hath made thee bird? 

Wilt trouble thy wee head 

That he made thee not a man? 

Be still, he hath it well bethought 

And be content therewith. 

What do I then, a worm of earth 

To judge along with God? 

That I in this heaven’s storm 

Do wrestle with all art. 

Thou canst not fight with God. 

And whoso is not fit for this, let him be sped away 

O Man, be satisfied 

That he hath made thee not the King 

And take it not amiss, 

Perchance hadst thou despised his name, 

That were a sorry matter: 

For God hath clearer eyes that that 

He looks into thy heart, 

Thou canst not God deceive.