Thy Herbage, O Great  sustains
The Flocks that graze our  Plains;
The Olive, with fresh Verdure crown'd,
Rises pregnant from the Ground;
At thy Command it shoots and springs,
And a thousand Blessings brings.
only is thy Mind,
Wisdom, and Bounty to Mankind.
The fragrant Thyme, the bloomy Rose,
Herb and Flow'r and Shrub that grows
On  Plain,
Or where the rich  reign,
That treat the Taste or Smell or Sight,
For Food, for Med'cine or Delight;
Planted by thy Parent Care,
Spring and smile and flourish there.