Good is the Lord, the heav’n­ly King,
Who makes the earth His care;
Visits the pas­tures ev­ery spring,
And bids the grass ap­pear.

The clouds like ri­vers raised on high
Pour out at Thy com­mand
Their wa­tery bless­ings from the sky,
To cheer the thirs­ty land.

The soft­ened ridg­es of the field
Permit the corn to spring;
The val­leys rich pro­vi­sion yield,
And the poor la­bor­ers sing.

The lit­tle hills, on ev­ery side,
Rejoice at fall­ing show­ers;
The mea­dows, dressed in all their pride,
Perfume the air with flow­ers.

The bar­ren clods re­freshed with rain,
Promise a joy­ful crop;
The parch­ing grounds look green again,
And raise the reap­er’s hope.

The va­ri­ous months Thy good­ness crowns;
How boun­te­ous Thy ways!
The bleat­ing flocks spread o’er the downs,
And sheph­erds shout Thy praise.