Second PART

Nations, in the remotest Land, Revere thy Tokens Voice; The op'ning Morn, at thy Command, And closing Eve, rejoice. The thirsty Earth, with fat'ning Rain, From God's full Springs above, Thou visitest; preparest Grain, And mak'st it fruitfull prove. Thou, on the Ridges, Rain do'st pour, And on the Furrows bring; It's soften'd with thy gentle Show'r, Thy Blessing makes it spring. The various Months thro'out the Year, Thou do'st with Goodness crown; Thy Paths, which in the Clouds appear, Drop plenteous Fatness down. They drop on Desert's until'd Ground, And cloath them in their Pride; The little Hills are girt around, With Joy on ev'ry Side. The Pastures bleating Flocks adorn, With lowing Herds they ring; The Vales are cover'd o'er with Corn, They shout for Joy, and sing.