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| | | ManThere are several official versions of this composition:- the original vocal studio recording from 2006
- a vocal live recording from 2007
- an instrumental studio recording from 2007
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Lyrics | | | My God, I heard this day, That none doth build a stately habitation, But he that means to dwell therein. What house more stately hath there been, Or can be, then is Man? to whose creation All things are in decay. |
| | | For Man is ev'ry thing And more: He is a tree, yet bears no fruit; A beast, yet is, or should be more: Reason and speech we onely bring. Parrats may thank us, if they are not mute, They go upon the score. |
| | | Man is all symmetrie, Full of proportions, one limbe to another, And all to all the world besides: Each part may call the farthest, brother: And head with foot hath private amitie, And both with moons and tides. |
| | | Nothing hath got so farre, But Man hath caught and kept it, as his prey. His eyes dismount the highest starre: He is in little all the sphere. Herbs gladly cure our flesh; because that they Finde their acquaintance there. |
| | | For us the windes do blow, The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow. Nothing we see, but means our good, As our delight, or as our treasure: The whole is, either our cupboard of food, Or cabinet of pleasure. |
| | | The starres have us to bed; Night draws the curtain, which the sunne withdraws; Musick and light attend our head. All things unto our flesh are kinde In their descent and being; to our minde In their ascent and cause. |
| | | Each thing is full of dutie: Waters united are our navigation; Distinguished, our habitation; Below, our drink; above, our meat; Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such beautie? Then how are all things neat? |
| | | More servants wait on Man, Then he'l take notice of: in ev'ry path He treads down that which doth befriend him, When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. Oh mightie love! Man is one world, and hath Another to attend him. |
| | | Since then, my God, thou hast So brave a Palace built; O dwell in it, That it may dwell with thee at last! Till then, afford us so much wit; That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee, And both thy servants be. |
| | | (Written by George Herbert) |
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