THERE is so much strong men are thankful for -- A nation's progress, or a slow strife's end; And though I join my praise with theirs to-day, Grave things are these I scarce can comprehend, So vast are they; And so apart, dear God, I pray Thee take My thanks for these Thy little blessings' sake. The little, common joys of every day, My garden blowing in an April wind, A linnet's greeting and the morning fall Of happy sunshine through the opened blind, The poplars tall That guard my threshold, and the peace that falls Like Sabbath stillness from my humble walls. The little, simple joys that we forget Until we lose them; for the lamp that lights The pages of the books I love the best, The hearth's red welcoming on winter nights, The kindly jest That moves within its circle, and the near Companionship of those the heart holds dear. The dear, accustomed joys we lightly take Too much for granted sometimes, as a child His father's gifts; and, so remembering, For these my thanks, for these my treasures piled, Each simple thing Those wiser may forget, dear Father, take My thanks for these Thy little blessings' sake. |