A Wreath

A wreathèd garland of deservèd praise,
Of praise deservèd, unto thee I give,
I give to thee, who knowest all my ways,
My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,
wherein I die, not live: for "live" is straight,
Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,
To thee who are 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.