"THE mountain village was destroy'd;
But see how soon is fill'd the void!
Shingles and boards, as by magic arise,
The babe in his cradle and swaddling-clothes lies;
How blest to trust to God's protection!"
Behold a wooden new erection,
So that, if sparks and wind but choose,
God's self at such a game must lose!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem