The Spring Great God At Thy Command
The spring, great God, at thy command,
Leads forth the smiling year;
Gay verdure, foliage, blooms and flowers
To adorn her reign, appear.
But soon canst thou in righteous wrath
Blast all the promis’d joy,
And elements await thy nod
To bless or to destroy.
The sun, thy minister of love,
That from the naked ground
Calls forth the hidden seeds to birth,
And spreads their beauties round:
At the dread order of his God,
Now darts destructive fires;
Hills, plains, and vales, are parch’d with drought,
And blooming life expires.
Like burnish’d brass, the heaven around
In angry terror burns,
While the earth lies a joyless waste,
And into iron turns.
Pity us, Lord, in our distress,
Nor with our land contend;
Bid the avenging skies relent,
And showers of mercy send!