Perfumes the air and paints the land;
The summer rays with vigour shine
To raise the corn and cheer the vine.
Thy hand, in Autumn, richly pours
Through all our coasts redundant stores;
And winters softened by thy care,
No more the face of horror wear.
Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days,
Demand successive songs of praise;
And be the grateful homage paid,