For every sentence, clause, and word,
That’s not inlaid with Thee, my Lord,
Forgive me, God, and blot each line
Out of my book, that is not Thine.
But if, ‘mongst all, Thou find’st here one
Worthy thy benediction,
That one of all the rest shall be
The glory of my work, and me.
But forwith bade my Julia showA bud in either cheek.
And dropping here and there;Not that I think that any dartCan make your’s bleed a tear,Or pierce it any where;Yet do it to this end,–that IMay byThis secret see,Though you can makeThat heart to bleed, your’s ne’er will acheFor me,
O ye Graces! make me fitFor the welcoming of it!Clean my rooms, as temples be,To entertain that deity;Give me words wherewith to woo,Suppling and successful too;Winning postures; and withal,Manners each way musical;Sweetness to allay my sourAnd unsmooth behaviour:For I know you have the skillVines to prune, though not to kill;And of any wood ye see,You…
Cold as paddocks though they be,Here I lift them up to thee,For a benison to fallOn our meat, and on us all.Amen.
