Hymn to Pan

By John Fletcher

1579-1625


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!

DayPoems Poem No. 210
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/210.html">Hymn to Pan by John Fletcher</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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