HYMN X.
To the Month of September.
E ach month hath praise in some degree,
L et May to others seem to be
I n Sense, the sweetest season;
S eptember! thou are best to me!
A nd best doth please my Reason.
B ut neither for their corn, nor wine;
E xtol I, those mild days of thine!
T hough corn and wine might praise thee;
H eaven gives thee honour more divine
A nd higher fortunes raise thee!
R enowned art thou, sweet Month! for this.
E mong thy days, her birthday is!
G race, Plenty, Peace, and Honour
I n one fair hour with her were born!
N ow since, they still her crown adorn,
A nd still attend upon her.