Now autumn strews on every plain, 
His mellow fruits and fertile grain; 
And laughing plenty, crown'd with sheaves, 
With purple grapes, and spreading leaves. 
In rich profusion pours around 
Her flowing treasures on the ground. 
Oh! mark the great, the liberal hand, 
That scatters blessings o'er the land; 
And to the God of nature raise 
The grateful song, the hymn of praise. 

The infant corn, in vernal hours, 
He nurtured with his gentle showers, 
And bade the summer clouds diffuse 
Their balmy store of genial dews. 
He mark'd the tender stem arise, 
Till ripen'd by the glowing skies, 
And now, matured, his work behold, 
The cheering harvest waves in gold. 
To nature's God with joy we raise 
The grateful song, the hymn of praise. 

The valleys echo to the strains 
Of blooming maids and village swains - 
To him they tune the lay sincere, 
Whose bounty crowns the smiling year. 
The sounds from every woodland borne 
The sighing winds that bend the corn, 
The yellow fields around proclaim 
His mighty, everlasting name. 
To nature's God united raise 
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.