When Heaven first ordained this globe a sphere,
And made from mingled Chaos all that’s here;
There from th’ Almighty’s throne – eternal bright,
Came forth the sun’s enlivening power and light,
And shone throughout this wide, ethereal space,
When poised and marked the course each world should trace;
And, as the varying year came rolling on,
Each slow revolving season shared its boon.

Now softly steals with timid step along –
Young Spring, returning lisps, her early song!
With feeble voice begins the tender strain –
List, list, the trembling, echoed notes again!
Come, gentle mistress of the rolling year,
With nature all expanding bright and fair;
Warmed by thy breath, O kindred Spring! again,
No leafless trees amid the breeze complain:
While o’er the meadow sport the sunbeams round,
In fairest robes the fertile valleys crowned;
The distant hills in glowing verdure rise,
And mingle all their fragrance with the skies.
The limpid stream, the swelling river’s source,
Now gathers in the valley’s midway course;
From icy fetters free, it flows again,
With force redoubling rushes to the main.
Far o’er the chequered landscape, fleeting round,
The orient gleams – the distant shouts resound.

Lo! Where the mighty river rolls its tide,
That winds its course through regions far and wide,
No more its icy bosom here displays,
But owns thy cheering mandate and obeys;
While headlong on, the rifted ice descends,
And fiercely crashing with the shore contends,
Till wild confusion sweeps the surface clear,
And leaves no vestige of the winter near.