Classic Poem

Firmest and first of things! prolific Earth! —
To whom all Nature being owes, and birth:
For all who tread the soil, or wing the skies,
Or cleave the ambient wave, from thee arise. —
Hail, awful Mother! whose productive womb
Of short-lived man's the cradle and the tomb.
Happy on whom thy powers their gifts bestow,
On them shall wealth and plenty ever flow.
Theirs the fair herd, the fields by labour till'd,
The garner still by copious harvests fill'd;
Theirs every joy of social life to taste,
Guarded by equal law, by beauty grac'd;
Happy and rich, while dancing frolic round,
Their sons and daughters beat the flowery ground.
Hail, mother of the gods! Wife to the sky!
Thy suppliant votary view with favouring eye;
Receive with bounteous hand my humble strain,
Soon shall I greet thy friendly power again.