I’m reading this very slowly indeed: one poem or extract every Sunday. I had to skip ahead some way to find this, from a paraphrase of Psalm 57 by Mary Herbert, Countess of Pembroke:
My heart prepar’d, prepared is my heart
To spread thy praise
With tuned lays:
Wake my tongue, my lute awake,
Thou my harp the consort make,
My self will bear a part.
But really the whole book seems to speak to this prompt.