Oft, when my lips I open to rehearse br Thy wondrous spells of wisdom and of power, br And that my voice and thy immortal verse br On listening ears and hearts I mingled pour, br I shrink dismayed—and awful doth appear br The vain presumption of my own weak deed; br Thy glorious spirit seems to mine so near, br That suddenly I tremble as I read— br Thee an invisible auditor I fear : br Oh, if it might be so, my master dear! br With what beseeching would I pray to thee, br To make me equal to my noble task, br Succour from thee, how humbly would I ask, br Thy worthiest works to utter worthily.