A Thanksgiving by Lucy Larcom

A Thanksgiving

FOR the wealth of pathless forests,

Whereon no axe may fall;

For the winds that haunt the branches;

The young bird's timid call;

For the red leaves dropped like rubies

Upon the dark green sod;

For the waving of the forests,

I thank thee, O my God!

For the sound of waters gushing

In bubbling beads of light;

For the fleets of snow-white lilies

Firm-anchored out of sight;

For the reeds among the eddies;

The crystal on the clod;

For the flowing of the rivers,

I thank Thee, O my God!

For the rosebud's break of beauty

Along the toiler's way;

For the violet's eye that opens

To bless the new-born day;

For the bare twigs that in summer

Bloom like the prophet's rod;

For the blossoming of flowers,

I thank Thee, O my God!

For the lifting up of mountains

In brightness and in dread;

For the peaks where snow and sunshine

Alone have dared to tread;

For the dark of silent gorges,

Whence mighty cedars nod;

For the majesty of mountains,

I thank Thee, O my God!

For the splendor of the sunsets

Vast mirrored on the sea;

For the gold-fringed clouds, that curtain

Heaven's inner mystery;

For the molten bars of twilight,

Where thought leans, glad, yet awed;

For the glory of the sunsets,

I thank thee, O my God!

For the earth, and all its beauty;

The sky, and all its light;

For the dim and soothing shadows

That rest the dazzled sight;

For unfading fields and prairies,

Where sense in vain has trod;

For the world's exhaustless beauty,

I thank Thee, O my God!

For an eye of inward seeing;

A soul to know and love;

For these common aspirations,

That our high heirship prove;

For the hearts that bless each other

Beneath Thy smile, Thy rod;

For the amaranth saved from Eden,

I thank Thee, O my God!

For the hidden scroll, o'erwritten

With one dear Name adored;

For the Heavenly in the human;

The Spirit in the Word;

For the tokens of Thy presence

Within, above, abroad;

For Thine own great gift of Being,

I thank Thee, O my God!