Still from thy grave governs each human soul,
That reads the wondrous record of thy pen.
From sordid sorrows thou hast set me free,
And turned from want’s grim ways my tottering feet,
And to sad empty hours, given royally,
A labour, than all leisure far more sweet.
The daily bread, for which we humbly pray,
Thou gavest me as if I were a child,
And still with converse noble, wise, and mild,
Charmed with despair my sinking soul away;