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Three from Morrison
Poems from Masterpieces of Religious Verse.
Thanksgiving
Be our daily bread withheld, be it given,
Thanks for the bread from heaven;
Though on sense disease and pain come stealing,
Thanks for the spirit's healing;
Thanks, when the springs of impulse are defiled,
For the renewing candor of the child;
Thanks, when the years sully the face of truth,
For the resurgent heart of youth.
Thanks, though we be cast off, unknown, alone,
Thanks that we are well known,
And though our outward man and lot decay,
The spirit kindles day by day;
Thanks that our sorrow by thine alchemy
Turns out to be the very fuel of glee,
That from our utter penury, we bless,
And having nothing, all things still possess.
Thanks for the faith that sees beyond these snows
The clemencies of God, the lily and the rose,
Beyond these graves, these ruins and this waste,
A garden of men, an empire undisgraced;
Thanks that each loss we own, each death we die,
Calls out of heaven amazing ministry,
Thanks, thanks that the costly travail wrought in dearth
Shatters old worlds and brings new worlds to birth.
Amos Niven Wilder (b. 1895)
Gifts Without Season
Lord, I would thank You for these things:
Not sunlight only, but sullen rain;
Not only laughter with lifted wings,
But the heavy muted hands of pain.
Lord, I would thank You for so much:
The toil no less than the well-earned ease;
The glory always beyond our touch
That bows the head and bends the knees.
Lord, there are gifts of brighter gold
Than the deepest mine or mint can yield:
Friendship and love and a dream to hold,
The look that heartened, the word that healed.
Lord, I would thank You for eyes to see
Miracles in our everyday earth:
The colors that crowd monotony,
The flame of the humblest flower's birth.
Lord, I would thank You for gifts without season:
The flash of a thought like a banner unfurled,
The splendor of faith and the sparkle of reason,
The tolerant mind in a turbulent world!
Joseph Auslander (b. 1897)
The Undiscovered Country
Lord, for the erring thought
Not unto evil wrought:
Lord, for the wicked will
Betrayed and baffled still:
For the heart from itself kept,
Our thanksgiving accept.
For ignorant hopes that were
Broken to our blind prayer:
For pain, death, sorrow sent
Unto our chastisement:
For all loss of seeming good,
Quicken our gratitude.
William Dean Howells (1837-1920)
Masterpieces of Religious Verse (1948), ed. James Dalton Morrison, ## 368, 373, 377.
Lane Core Jr. CIW P — Sun. 11/23/03 01:26:59 PM
Categorized as Sunday Poetry Series.
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