IN THEE MY ART

In thee is all my art; from thee I draw

The substance of my dreams, the waking plan

Of practised thought; I can no measure scan,

But thou work'st in me like eternal law.

If I were rich in goodly title deeds

Of broad estate, won from posterity;

If from decaying Time I snatched a see

Richer than prelates pray for with their beads;

If some should bring before me frankincense,

And make a pleasant fire to greet mine eyes;

If there were given me for recompense

Gifts fairer than a seraph could devise:

I would, my sovereign, kneel to thee and say,

“It all is thine; thou showedst me the way.”