O Lord, I pray: that for each happiness
My housemate brings I may give back no less
Than all my fertile will;
That I may take from friends but as the stream
Creates again the hawthorn bloom adream
Above the river sill;
That I may see the spurge upon the wall
And hear the nesting birds give call to call,
Keeping my wonder new;
That I may have a body fit to mate
With the green fields, and stars, and streams in spate,
And clean as clover-dew;
That I may have the courage to confute
All fools with silence when they will dispute,
All fools who will deride;
That I may know all strict and sinewy art
As that in man which is the counterpart,
Lord, of Thy fiercest pride;
That somehow this beloved earth may wear
A later grace for all the love I bear,
For some song that I sing;
That, when I die, this word may stand for me —
He had a heart to praise, an eye to see,
And beauty was his king.