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William Wordsworth

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,

That of its native self can nothing feed:

Of good and pious works thou art the seed,

That quickens only where thou say'st it may:

Unless Thou show 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.