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