(The fumigation from myrrh)

 

Aerial clouds, thro' heav'n's resplendent plains

Who wander, parents of prolific rains;

Who nourish fruits, whose water'y frames are hurl'd,

By winds impetuous, round the mighty world;

All-thund'ring, lion-roaring, flashing fire,

In Air's wide bosom, bearing thunders dire:

Impell'd by every stormy, sounding gale,

With rapid course, along the skies ye sail.

With blowing winds your wat'ry frames I call,

On mother Earth with fruitful show'rs to fall.