Oh, we must thank the Lord for many things; And loud for this uplift our hymn of praise, That Nature has not learned our human ways. Her blessings do not huddle with clipped wings, But every lonely hill and valley sings And smiles and grows in the outpouring rays Of Nature's eager missionary days, And yields as freely as she freely brings. Praise God who gave the light no eyes to find The highest market, and the flowers no ear For human compliments, and birds no mind To count what audience their songs may hear; And pray that all our happy human kind May fold in perfect love one perfect sphere. |