HYMN II. Anna Laetitia Barbauld (née Aikin) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T236 K019955.000 Barbauld, Mrs. (Anna Letitia), 1743-1825. Poems. London printed for Joseph Johnson 1773 pp. 115-117. vi,138p. ; 4⁰.

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HYMN II . PRAISE to GOD , immortal praise , ALTHOUGH the fig tree shall not blossom , neither shall fruit be in the vines , the labour of the olive shall fail , and the fields shall yield no meat , the flock shall be cut off from the fold , and there shall be no herd in the stalls ; yet I will rejoice in the LORD , I will joy in the GOD of my salvation . HABAKKUK , iii . 17 , 18. For the love that crowns our days ; Bounteous source of every joy , Let thy praise our tongues employ . For the blessings of the field , For the stores the garden yield , For the vine's exalted juice , For the generous olive's use : Flocks that whiten all the plain , Yellow sheaves of ripen'd grain ; Clouds that drop their fatt'ning dews , Suns that temperate warmth diffuse : All that Spring with bounteous hand Scatters o'er the smiling land : All that liberal Autumn pours From her rich o'erflowing stores : These to thee , my GOD , we owe ; Source whence all our blessings flow ; And for these , my soul shall raise Grateful vows and solemn praise . Yet should rising whirlwinds tear From its stem the ripening ear ; Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot Drop her green untimely fruit ; Should the vine put forth no more , Nor the olive yield her store ; Though the sick'ning flocks should fall , And the herds desert the stall ; Should thine alter'd hand restrain The early and the latter rain ; Blast each opening bud of joy , And the rising year destroy ; Yet to thee my soul should raise Grateful vows , and solemn praise ; And , when every blessing's flown , Love thee — for thyself alone .