The adopted daughter and other tales |
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14. | THE HEART'S LITANY. |
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The adopted daughter | ||
179
THE HEART'S LITANY.
BY F. H. STAUFFER.
My spirit, overpowered, would praise thee, O King!
For the blessings the seasons alternately bring:
For the woodland and prairie and the golden grain,
For the wane of the sunlight, and its birth again;
For the blessings around us that genius shed,
In the hearts of the living embalming the dead;
For sunshine and shadow—the rose and the thorn.
For the deluging torrent and the dew of the morn;
For angel-kin visions—for the pestilence breath,
For the spring-time of life, and the mildew of death:
For the contrast makes sweeter the happier seem,
And the soul teaches lightly earth's joys to esteem
For the wonders of Nature—the comforts of art,
And those thrilling delights early friendships impart;
But far above all for the talisman given,
That round us, e'en here, throws a forecast of heaven!
I tremble while rend'ring such a tribute as this,
In return for unnumbered donations of bliss!
A voice seems to whisper—“The lisping child's prayer,
Full as swift as his curate's, speeds on through the air!”
For the blessings the seasons alternately bring:
For the woodland and prairie and the golden grain,
For the wane of the sunlight, and its birth again;
For the blessings around us that genius shed,
In the hearts of the living embalming the dead;
For sunshine and shadow—the rose and the thorn.
For the deluging torrent and the dew of the morn;
For angel-kin visions—for the pestilence breath,
For the spring-time of life, and the mildew of death:
For the contrast makes sweeter the happier seem,
And the soul teaches lightly earth's joys to esteem
For the wonders of Nature—the comforts of art,
And those thrilling delights early friendships impart;
But far above all for the talisman given,
That round us, e'en here, throws a forecast of heaven!
I tremble while rend'ring such a tribute as this,
In return for unnumbered donations of bliss!
A voice seems to whisper—“The lisping child's prayer,
Full as swift as his curate's, speeds on through the air!”
The adopted daughter | ||