XLIV. Nathanael Baxter

THERE was one Soueraigne God, which we call Pan,

That cannot be defin’d by mortal man.

Some call him Ioua, for his existence;

Some Elohym, for his excellence;

Some call him Theos, for his burning light;

Some call him Deus, for his fearfull might;

Some call him mightie Tetragrammaton,

Of letters fower in composition.

There is no region vnderneath the skie

But by fower letters write the Deitie.

For fower is a perfect number square,

And æquall sides in euerie part doth beare.

And God is that, which sometime Good we nam’d,

Before our English tongue was shorter fram’d:

Pan, in the Greeke, the shepheards do him call,

Which we do tearm the whole vniuersall:

All in himself, all one, all euerie where,

All in the center, all out, all in the spheare,

All seeing all, all comprehending all,

All blessed, all mightie, all æternall;

Comprehended in no circumference,

Of no beginning, nor ending essence;

Not capable of composition,

Qualitie, accident, diuision,

Passion, forme, or alteration;

All permanent, without mutation;

Principall mouer, alwaies in action,

Without wearinesse or intermission;

Immortall, and without infirmitie,

Of everlasting splendent maiestie,

One in essence, not to be diuided,

Yet into Trinitie distinguished;

Three in one essence, one essence in three,

A wonder, I confesse, too hard for mee;

Yet diuine poets innumerable,

At theorems, and demonstrations,

Deliuer it to our contemplations.

The Father, Sonne, and Holy Ghost, these three

Are subsistent persons in the Deitie:

Abba, Ben, Ruach, blessed poets sing,

Are the true names of Pan, cœlestiall King.