A Poets Hymn by George Dyson Lyrics

Lord, thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather proof
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry;
Where thou my chamber for to ward
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts to keep
Me while I sleep
Low is my porch, as is my fate
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by the poor
Who thither come and freely get
Good words or meat
Like as my parlour, so my hall

And kitchen's small
Little buttery, and therein
A little bin
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipp'd, unsped
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar
Make me a fire
Close by whose living coal I sit
And glow like it
All these and better thou dost send
Me to this end
That I should render for my part
A thankful heart;
Which, fired by incense, I resign
Wholly Thine
But the acceptance must be
My Christ, by Thee