Thy healing hand destroys disease;
Thy breath brings health in every breeze;
Before thee agues fly:
Thou giv’st each heart with joy to glow,
All blood in brisker streams to flow;
Health laughs in every eye.
What tribute, then, shall mortals bring,
To offer to the genial Spring?
What trophies shall we raise?
With grateful sons, at least, let’s try