 | Poems |  |
THANKSGIVING.
I.
Lord! put a new song in my lips,
A song that fits to-day;
Not like the river's rushing chant
Upon its seaward way,
Nor like the anthem of the winds,
Nor ocean's desperate spray.
A song that fits to-day;
Not like the river's rushing chant
Upon its seaward way,
Nor like the anthem of the winds,
Nor ocean's desperate spray.
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But most like some slight, wandering brook,
That, dropping from the hills,
Can no more shun the nearing grave
Than all its kindred rills,
And yet its weary, wistful tone
The autumn silence thrills.
That, dropping from the hills,
Can no more shun the nearing grave
Than all its kindred rills,
And yet its weary, wistful tone
The autumn silence thrills.
I cannot thank Thee for my sin,
Nor for my sorrows yet;
The pain and fear and loss of life
I cannot but regret.
The loss of faith, the death of love,
Ah! how can I forget?
Nor for my sorrows yet;
The pain and fear and loss of life
I cannot but regret.
The loss of faith, the death of love,
Ah! how can I forget?
To trust no more, to love no more
Are lessons hard to learn.
The martyr to his stake may cling;
But is it sweet to burn?
Dear Lord! I thank Thee that my life
Can never more return.
Are lessons hard to learn.
The martyr to his stake may cling;
But is it sweet to burn?
Dear Lord! I thank Thee that my life
Can never more return.
I thank Thee for the present calm,
The quiet of the hour,
The silent rest of waiting days,
That know not leaf nor flower;
For every moment when the past
Lets loose its grasp of power;
The quiet of the hour,
The silent rest of waiting days,
That know not leaf nor flower;
For every moment when the past
Lets loose its grasp of power;
For every charm of outer life
That soothes my wearied heart;
For sun and sky and wind and wave,
For Nature's better part;
More for the little lips and hands
So dear—so far apart!
That soothes my wearied heart;
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For Nature's better part;
More for the little lips and hands
So dear—so far apart!
Most for the spark of Faith in Thee
Man hath not blown away,
That yet may quicken into light
And blaze to perfect day,
Till wasted love and wasted life
Are dreams that dare not stay.
Yet most for Thy great patience, Lord,
I give Thee thanks to-day.
Man hath not blown away,
That yet may quicken into light
And blaze to perfect day,
Till wasted love and wasted life
Are dreams that dare not stay.
Yet most for Thy great patience, Lord,
I give Thee thanks to-day.
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