Page:1808 Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne.pdf/103



Oh! mark the great, the liberal hand, That scatters blessings o'er the land; And to the 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 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 united raise The grateful song, the hymn of praise.