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Poem	My heart the chamber of His musing is, Mine eye the mirror of His beauty’s face, My hand the servant of His purposes. I, who to neither wealth nor worldly place Incline, nor to religion’s promised ease, Bend low beneath the burden of His grace. Since all I have is of His bounty given, So is my poor pride but in His proud name, His humble service is my hoped-for Heaven. Nor shun I men’s despite & trampling sneer, Nor heed their slander, nor the infamous fame Of their blind censure; nay nor do I fear Death’s last defilement: though I pass in shame, Bright worlds His immortality proclaim.
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