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Yet, thou, who art mine inspiration, thou,
For whose sweet praises still I strive to sing,
I will not murmur once, when, bending low,
At thy dear feet my broken harp I fling.
Well pleased if others think this song I send,
Though all unworthy praise, too simple to offend.
For whose sweet praises still I strive to sing,
I will not murmur once, when, bending low,
At thy dear feet my broken harp I fling.
Well pleased if others think this song I send,
Though all unworthy praise, too simple to offend.
