The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed If Thou the spirit give by which I pray: My unassisted heart is barren clay, Which of its native self can nothing feed: Of good and pious works thou art the seed, Which quickens only where thou say'st it may: Unless thou shew to us thine own true way No man can find it: Father! thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in thy holy footsteps I may tread; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of thee, And sound thy praises everlastingly. 13. _Written in very early Youth_. Calm is all nature as a resting wheel. The Kine are couch'd upon the dewy grass; The Horse alone, seen dimly as I pass, Is up, and cropping yet his later meal: Dark is the ground; a slumber seems to steal O'er vale, and mountain, and the starless sky. Now, in this blank of things, a harmony Home-felt, and home-created seems to heal That grief for which the senses still supply Fresh food; for only then, when memory Is hush'd, am I at rest. My Friends, restrain Those busy cares that would allay my pain: Oh! leave me to myself; nor let me feel The officious touch that makes me droop again. 14. COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, Sept. 3, 1803. Earth has not any thing to shew more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still! 15. "Beloved Vale!" I said, "when I shall con Those many records of my childish years, Remembrance of myself and of my peers Will press me down: to think of what is gone Will be an awful thought, if life have one." But, when into the Vale I came, no fears Distress'd me; I look'd round, I shed no tears; Deep thought, or awful vision, I had none. By thousand petty fancies I was cross'd, To see the Trees, which I had thought so tall, Mere dwarfs; the Brooks so narrow, Fields so small. A Juggler's Balls old Time about him toss'd; I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed; and all The weight of sadness was in wonder lost. 16.