The latter Part of the 3d Chap. of Habbakuk imitated

Altho' the blooming plants forget to shoot, The fig-tree fade, and vines deny their fruit; No tasteful olives finish our repast, Nor op'ning buds survive the wintry blast; The barren fields their wonted blades withhold, And lambs no longer fill the scanty fold; Nor flocks, nor herds, around the vale be seen, But one stern famine sweep th' impov'rish'd green— Yet shall the God of nature claim my praise, Wake my first songs, and share my latest lays. Each night and morn shall string the duteous lyre, And all my nerves retouch with sacred fire; Hills, vales, and groves, the sounding anthem own, And the sweet echoes reach th' unshaken throne, Where reigns forever, in unclouded day, My guide, that leads at once and lights my way. He from my paths will turn th' opposing wind, And give my feet the swiftness of the hind; Life's rugged tracts make like the pleasant plains, On whose smooth ground the trav'ler sooths his pains.