Gratitude

MARGARET MORRISON

I THANK thee, Father! O that I might know
The meaning of those gracious words, that flow
From humble hearts up to the eternal fount
Of Love; and thence, returning, do anoint
The brows of pain with peace, and to the gloom
Of earth-bound prisons bring light's balm and bloom!

I thank thee, Father! Lovely flowers blow,
In tender radiance and joyful glow,
Their perfumed praise across the face of man,
Who blinded walks, nor knows the heavenly plan
Of love bestowed and gratitude returned.

I thank thee, Father! In the sky 'tis burned,
Impassioned in the sunset flame, and then
Returns in meekness with mild stars again.
It woos the wind to whispering quietness,
And stills the storm-swept sea with soft caress.
It thrills in every soaring song of bird.

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