Nor sinful hearts to moor all day
By lily-isle, or grassy bay,
Nor drink at noontide’s balmy hours
Sweet opiates from the meadow-flowers.
O give me grace, dear Lord! to win
Thy pardon for my youthful sin,
For all the days, in woods embowered,
When currents of sweet thought o’erpowered
With pleasant force the sense of duty,
And gentle nature’s harmless beauty,