But chief, my Muse, with reverent awe
To Him, whose will is Nature's law,
Thy hymns of gratulation pay,
To Him direct the tribute lay,
From whom derives the balmy pill
Its virtues, the physician skill:
That o'er each act and thought presides,
Directs his hand, his counsel guides:
Else medicine's unavailing store
Shall vainly glide thro' every pore,
Thro' every pore the mineral rill
In vain its gifted powers instill.