Another Poem by Rees Prichard

COME, women, children, come ye rural swains,
Come praise th' Almighty for his gifts benign,
Come praise our God, who ever kindly deigns
To feed the hungry with a care divine.

Who with his goodness does each creature fill,
At ev'ry season of the rolling year,
And gives us, of his own free gift and will,
Sufficient maintenance, whilst we are here.

He from the ground gives various sorts of grain,
To make us bread - and creatures wild and tame -
From the rock honey - fishes from the main,
With many dainties, that I cannot name.

All flesh he feeds with the exactest care,
(As if oblig'd by the most solemn ties)
Forgetting not the songsters of the air,
The lion's roarings, or the raven's cries.

E'en man, in secret, with the flow'r of wheat,
And those rich liquors Epicures so prize,
With roast and boil'd, and many kinds of meat,
Our God, and none but God alone, supplies.