I place an offering at thy shrine,
From taint and blemish clear,
Simple and pure in its design,
Of all that I hold dear.
I yield thee back thy gifts again,
Thy gifts which most I prize;
Desirous only to retain
The notice of thine eyes.
But if, by thine adored decree,
That blessing be denied;
Resigned and unreluctant, see
My every wish subside.
Thy will in all things I approve,
Exalted or cast down;
Thy will in every state I love,
And even in thy frown.
More verses by William Cowper
- Truth
- To The Immortal Memory Of The Halibut, On Which I Dined This Day, Monday, April 26, 1784
- The Task: Book Iv. -- The Winter Evening
- Sweet Meat Has Sour Sauce; Or, The Slave-Trader In The Dumps
- Sonnet Iii. Canzone. (Translated From Milton)