Hymn XXI: To the Clouds

Aerial Clouds, thro' heav'ns resplendent plains
Who wander, parents of prolific rains ;
Who nourish fruits, whose wat'ry frames are hurl'd,
By winds impetuous, round the mighty world.
Loud-sounding, lion-roaring, flashing fire,
In Air's wide bosom bearing thunders dire :
Impell'd by each sonorous stormy gale,
With rapid course along the skies ye sail.
With gentle gales your wat'ry frames I call,
On mother Earth with fruitful show'rs to fall.