Frances Anne Kemble (1809–1893)

OFT, when my lips I open to rehearse

Thy wondrous spells of wisdom, and of power,

And that my voice, and thy immortal verse,

On listening ears and hearts, I mingled pour,

I shrink dismayed, and awful doth appear

The vain presumption of my own weak deed;

Thy glorious spirit seems to mine so near,

That suddenly I tremble as I read.

Thee an invisible auditor I fear.

O, if it might be so, my master dear!

With what beseeching would I pray to thee,

To make me equal to my noble task!

Succor from thee how humbly would I ask,

Thy worthiest works to utter worthily!