Parnell.

The praise I make will then be sweet indeed,

If Thou the Spirit give by which I pray:

My unassisted heart is barren clay,

That of its native self can nothing feed;

Of good and pious works Thou art the seed

That quickens only where Thou sayest it may;

Unless Thou show to us Thy own true way,

No man can find it. Father! Thou must lead:

Do Thou then breathe these thoughts into my mind