14.
Thou carest more for that which I call mine,
In same sort--better manner than I could,
Even if I knew creation's ends divine,
Rousing in me this vague desire of good.
Thou art more to me than my desires' whole brood;
Thou art the only person, and I cry
Unto the father I of this my I.
15.
Thou who inspirest prayer, then bend'st thine ear;
It, crying with love's grand respect to hear!
I cannot give myself to thee aright--
With the triumphant uttermost of gift;
That cannot be till I am full of light--
To perfect deed a perfect will must lift:--
Inspire, possess, compel me, first of every might.
16.
I do not wonder men can ill believe
Who make poor claims upon thee, perfect Lord;
Then most I trust when most I would receive.
I wonder not that such do pray and grieve--
The God they think, to be God is not fit.
Then only in thy glory I seem to sit,
When my heart claims from thine an infinite accord.
17.
More life I need ere I myself can be.
Sometimes, when the eternal tide ebbs low,
A moment weary of my life I grow--
Weary of my existence' self, I mean,
Not of its plodding, not its wind and snow
Then to thy knee trusting I turn, and lean:
Thou will'st I live, and I do will with thee.
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