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Oh! mark the great, the liberal hand,
That scatters blessings o'er the land;
And to the God of Nature raise
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.
The infant corn in vernal hours,
He nurtur'd with his gentle showers,
And bade the summer clouds diffuse
Their balmy store of genial dews.
He mark'd the tender stem arise,
Till ripen'd by the glowing skies;
And now matur'd, his work behold,
The cheering harvest waves in gold.
To nature's God with joy we raise
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.
The vallies echo to the strains
Of blooming maids, and village swains;
To Him they tune the lay sincere,
Whose bounty crowns the smiling year.
The sounds from every woodland borne,
The sighing winds that bend the corn,
The yellow fields around proclaim
His mighty everlasting name.
To nature's God united raise
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.
