Ii

My palate is a touch-stone fit To taste how good Thou art, And other members second it Thy praises to impart. There's not an eye that's fram'd by Thee, But ought Thy life and love to see: Nor is there, Lord, upon mine head an ear, But that the music of Thy works should hear. Each toe, each finger, framed by Thy skill, Ought ointments to distil. Ambrosia, nectar, wine should flow From every joint I owe, Or things more rich; while they Thy holy will Are instruments adapted to fulfill.