Music lost

Ye houses of heaven, ye radiant torches, bow ye low.
For Augustus' name's great luster
Shall within your radiant borders
This day solemnly be brought.

Most laudable August,
Thou worldly gem, thou even heaven's joy,
I now inscribe thy name's great fame
To be eternity's
Now long established property,
The marvel of all recent time
And as a light for future years.
Ye stars must now make room, Augustus shall come in.

Call, then, this thine August god!
Boast, then, Rome, in games and feasting,
Saxon August is the greatest,
For this his own laurels bloom;
Saxon August is unequaled,
For kindness and love have immortalized him.

Oh, lovely day, oh, lovely vision,
Augustus lives, he blooms with fortune!
However, what hath here
Yon Providence divine in store?
Shall I of England's woe,
Of Moscow's terrors
Make further mention?
No, no!
Today shall this day gladsome be;
Augustus lives, he blooms with fortune!

Fame, Providence:
I will/Thou shalt boast now, I will/thou shalt speak now
Of these days so full of pleasure,
How the realm and land are glad:
Providence: But of this great rarity,
This thy king's great majesty,
Fame, Providence:
Will I/Shalt thou ask the very heavens.

Providence: Just as Augustus hath
In fame and deeds not found his equal,
So shall as well his years' own course
A toll unheard of yet accomplish.
Fame: Well done! And though I may
Myself nigh totally
In praise of all his deeds of wonder
Make hoarse and even worn by singing,
Yet can I have
No sweeter duty
Than long, so long still yet,
All his great fame to echo.
Providence: His form, his holy countenance
I'll hang within the god's own halls,
So that his earthly life's achievements
From the decay of time
Be all the more protection given.
Health: So shall good fortune's gentleness
Each day have freshened new resources
From which with endless health and joy
It may the royal breast,
The noblest in the world, give comfort.

Sire, though high be thy position,
Graft I will e'en thy well-being
Onto everlasting growth.
I will keep now thy great power,
Like the eagles never aging,
Like the cliffs which firmly stand.

I am, indeed, so pleased
That Saxon hope and due
Now of thine ear are worthy thought.
The light which makes us glad
Bestirs the land to jubilation.
The king doth live. His strength returneth!
'Tis heaven's wish that he immortal be.
Rejoice and raise triumphant columns!
And worship's temples consecrate,
That to the king the honor of a deity
While living be allotted.

Saxons, come to sacrifice,
Let the incense sweetly burn now,
That his heart may here acknowledge
That ye are his glory worth.

But wherefore would we many temples build thee?
The number, O most kind August,
Of loyal subjects thou dost know,
This number thou of hearts will witness
Which temples are, and altars, too,
With humble love here inflamed,
Which this day for thy life and safety
Their wish through me in place of off'rings gives thee:

Piety:
Heaven, give ear to the prayers of this land,
Shield thou the king with powerful hand,
Bless the name of thine anointed!
Choir: Amen! Amen! Amen!
Piety: Lengthy lifetime, peace and calm
Add thou unto all his years;
And tend from above all the princely descendants!
Choir: Amen! Amen! Amen!
Piety, Choir: Thus shall we have ages of gold to inherit,
When hesitate even the aged to perish.