HIS grace vouchsafe me for the rhymes
I write.
If any last, nor perish quick and quite,
Lord, let them be
My little images, to stand for me
When I may stand no longer in Thy sight:

Like those old statues of the King who said,
‘“‘Carve me in that which needs nor sleep nor
bread ;
Let diorite pray,
A King of stone, for this poor King of clay
Who wearies often and must soon be dead!”

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