And every sense, and every heart is joy. 
  Then comes thy glory in the summer-months,
  With light and heat refulgent.  Then thy sun
  Shoots full perfection through the swelling year: 
  And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks;
  And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
  By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. 
  Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined,
  And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 
  In winter awful thou’ with clouds and storms
  Around thee thrown, tempest o’er tempest rolled
  Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind’s wing,
  Riding sublime, thou bidst the world adore,
  And humblest nature with thy northern blast.

  Mysterious round! what skill, what force Divine
  Deepfelt, in these appear! a simple train,
  Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art,
  Such beauty and beneficence combined: 
  Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade;
  And all so forming an harmonious whole;

  That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
  But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze,
  Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand;
  That, ever-busy, wheels the silent spheres;
  Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence
  The fair profusion that o’erspreads the spring: 
  Flings from the sun direct the flaming day;
  Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth;
  And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
  With transport touches all the springs of life.

  Nature, attend! join every living soul,
  Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
  In adoration join; and ardent raise
  One general song!  To Him, ye vocal gales,
  Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes. 
  Oh, talk of Him in solitary glooms
  Where o’er the rock the scarcely waving pine
  Fills the brown shade with a religious awe;
  And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,
  Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven
  Th’ impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
  His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
  And let me catch it as I muse along. 
  Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
  Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
  Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
  A secret world of wonders in thyself,
  Sound His stupendous praise, whose greater voice
  Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 
  So roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
  In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts,
  Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
  Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave to Him;
  Breathe your still song into the reaper’s heart,
  As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 
  Ye that keep watch in Heaven, as earth asleep
  Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams;
  Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
  Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.