XII - From the Same

TO THE SUPREME BEING.



  The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed
  If Thou the spirit give by which I pray:
  My unassisted heart is barren clay,
  Which of its native self can nothing feed:
  Of good and pious works thou art the seed,
  Which quickens only where thou say'st it may:
  Unless thou shew to us thine own true way
  No man can find it: Father! thou must lead.
  Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind
  By which such virtue may in me be bred
  That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;
  The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
  That I may have the power to sing of thee,
  And sound thy praises everlastingly.

• About William Wordsworth