Old poems as familiar rooms,
Some spacious and a little cramped,
"O here is some inspired rug"
"O goodness, what an ugly chair"
And so in sprawling unward house,
My soul in all its timeswept colours paints the walls.

My arms are weak with many gifts,
Undeserving poor and wretched man,
I am! Yet lavish grace on grace uplifts,
My soul though backward thrown askew,
Untwisted each dear day, adrift,
Upon a mercied treble gift:
Rich in company and stature,
Rich in books and little learnings,
Rich in food and all my needs are met,

May I praise you though the times
Are good, yet never cease to turn a rhyme,
When walked through darker clefts again.