My father! unto thee to whom I owe All that I am, all that I have and can; Who madest me in thyself the sum of man In all his generous aims and powers to know, These first-fruits bring I; nor do thou forego Marking when I the boyish feat began, Which numbers now near three years from its plan, Not twenty summers had imbrowned my brow. Life is at blood-heat every page doth prove. Bear with it. Nature means Necessity. If here be aught which thou canst love, it springs Out of the hope that I may earn that love More unto me than immortality; Or to have strang my harp with golden strings.