MY gracious Lord! --
Be not surpriz'd to see
An humble Clergyman, of mean degree,
With such a simple Book the Man accost,
Who is by all esteem'd his country's boast!

The Zeal you for the Church of God have shown,
Your service to your country and the crown,
The favour you've for Welshmen still express'd,
Must fill with gratitude each Welshman's breast.

Though thousands strive your character to raise
With countless sums of tributary praise;
Permit e'en me, my Lord! however low,
Amongst the rest, my worthless mite to throw.

The LORD of Hosts himself did meekly deign
To take the widow's mites, without disdain;
Nor proudly deem'd the well-meant gift, too small,
Or of no worth; because she gave - her all.

Do you, my dearest Lord! the like receive
From One, who has no better thing to give;
Yet with a better present would be glad
To honour You - if He a better had.

But You, our country's glory! merit more,
And more shou'd have - if more was in my pow'r;
Yet weigh'd according to it's kind intent,
This gift yields not to those by princes sent.