Naked, or in rough goatskins clad,

In every place they long confess’d

The God, for whom o’er earth they stray’d,

Tormented, destitute, distress’d.

Of whom the world unworthy was,

Whom only God their Maker knew;

The world they punish’d with their loss,

The holy anchorites withdrew.

Lone, unfrequented wilds they trod,

O’er mountain-tops the wanderers ran,

With milder beasts in dens abode,

And shunn’d the haunts of savage man.