Through the meadows, past the cities, still the brimming streams are rolled,
Now in torrents, now expanding into silver lakes of gold,
Wafting life and increase with them, wealth and beauty manifold.
Whence descends the ceaseless fullness, ever giving, never dry?
Yonder, o'er the climbing forest, see the shining cause on high—
Mountain snows their watery treasure pouring everlastingly.
(Ps. 104. 10-15; 145. 16)