We come! we come! and ye feel our might,

And we’re hastening on in our boundless flight,

And over the mountains, and over the deep

Our broad invisible pinions sweep,

Like the spirit of liberty, wild and free!

And ye look on our works, and own ’tis we,

Ye call us the winds; but can ye tell

Whither we go, or where we dwell?

Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power,

And fell the forest, or fan the flower,