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,