A wreathéd garland of deservéd praise,
Of praise deservéd, unto Thee I give,
I give to Thee, Who knowest all my ways,
My crookéd winding ways, wherein I live --
Wherein I die, not live; for life is straight,
Straight as a line, and ever tends to Thee --
To Thee, Who art more far above deceit,
Than deceit seems above simplicity.
Give me simplicity, that I may live;
So live and like, that I may know Thy ways;
Know them and practise them; then shall I give,
For this poor wreath, give Thee a crown of praise.