O thou, that sit'st upon a throne,
With harp of high majestic tone,
     To praise the King of Kings;
And voice of heaven-ascending swell,
Which, while its deeper notes excel,
     Clear, as a clarion, rings.

-- Christopher Smart
from The Song to David
(in Poetry for the Spirit, edited by Alan Jacobs)

O may we soon again renew that song,
And keep in tune with heaven, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,
To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

-- John Milton
(in Poetry for the Spirit,
edited by Alan Jacobs)

. . . Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patens of bright gold.
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins:
Such harmony is in immortal souls
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

-- Shakespeare
(in Poetry for the Spirit,
edited by Alan Jacobs)

A heart that to God's will
Submits in patience mute
Loves to be touched by Him:
It serves God as His lute.

-- Angelus Silesius (trans. Anon.)
(in Poetry for the Spirit,
edited by Alan Jacobs)

The flute of the Infinite is played without ceasing, and its sound is love:
When love renounces all limits, it reaches truth.
How widely the fragrance spreads!  It has no end, nothing stands in its way.
The form of this melody is bright like a million suns; incomparably sound the vina, the vina of the notes of truth.

-- Kabir (trans. Rabindranath Tagore)
(in Poetry for the Spirit,
edited by Alan Jacobs)