I ask and wish not to appear More beauteous, rich or gay: Lord, make me wiser every year, And better every day.
As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.
Shakespeare is one of the last books one should like to give up, perhaps the one just before the Dying Service in a large Prayer book.