A Feast for Wormes: The Invocation

O All sufficient God, great Lord of Light,
Without whose gracious ayd, & constant sprite,
No labours prosper, (howsoe're begun)
But flye like Mists before the morning Sun:
O raise my thoughts, and cleare my Apprehension,
Infuse thy Spirit into my weake invention:
Reflect thy Beames upon my feeble Eyes,
Shew me the Mirrour of thy Mysteries;
My Art-lesse Hand, my humble Heart inspire,
Inflame my frozen tongue with holy fire:
Ravish my stupid Senses with thy Glory;
Sweeten my Lips with sacred Oratory:
And (thou O FIRST and LAST) assist my Quill,
That first and last, I may performe thy will:
My sole intent's to blazon forth thy Praise;
My ruder Pen expects no crowne of Bayes.
Suffice it then, Thine Altar I have kist:
Crowne me with Glory; Take the Bayes that list.