The poem
Since, Lord, to thee A narrow way and little gate Is all the passage, on my infancy Thou didst lay hold, and antedate My faith in me.
O let me still Write thee great God, and me a child: Let me be soft and supple to thy will, Small to my self, to others mild, Behither ill.
Although by stealth My flesh get on, yet let her sister My soul bid nothing, but preserve her wealth: The growth of flesh is but a blister; Childhood is health.