He gave to me what seemed the soul of praise,
And that, to me, a step removed from odd,
In pointing out the merit of my lays,
Alluded to what proves a gift of God.
'Tis not of me, I readily confess,
As I do sense, whenever I do write,
A presence with the power e'en to bless
What (being blessed) gives rise to some delight.
Therefore, His misplaced praise I disavow
As it belongs to One who's seldom seen,
E'en to that One yet willing to endow
A man (one such as I) unskilled and mean.
I grant Him praise, as praise, to Him, is due,
And proffer, of His grandeur, but a clue.