Ye winged inhabitants of the grove,
pour forth the warbling of your harmonious throats.
When the majestic lion pays him honours
with the terror of his mouth,
and the caverns of the rocks resound him praise,
praise God, O my soul, praise God the creator and preserver.
Let the voice of man reach thy throne,
O Lord, before that of thy other creatures.
In the grey twilight, at the dawn of the morning,
while the birds and beasts yet sleep,
may my solitary song find acceptance to praise thee, O God.