CCCII A Thanksgiving
Lord, in this dust thy sovereign voice
First quickened love divine;
I am all thine—thy care and choice,
My very praise is thine.
I praise Thee, while thy providence 5
In childhood frail I trace,
For blessings given, ere dawning sense
Could seek or scan thy grace;
Blessings in boyhood’s marvelling hour,
Bright dreams and fancyings strange; 10
Blessings, when reason’s awful power
Gave thought a bolder range;
Blessings of friends, which to my door
Unasked, unhoped, have come;
And choicer still, a countless store 15
Of eager smiles at home.
Yet, Lord, in memory’s fondest place
I shrine those seasons sad,
When looking up, I saw thy face
In kind austereness clad. 20
I would not miss one sigh or tear,
Heart-pang or throbbing brow;
Sweet was the chastisement severe,
And sweet its memory now.
Yes! let the fragrant scars abide, 25
Love-tokens in thy stead,
Faint shadows of the spear-pierced side,
And thorn-encompassed head.
And such thy tender force be still,
When self would swerve or stray, 30
Shaping to truth the froward will
Along thy narrow way.
Deny me wealth; far, far remove
The lure of power or name;
Hope thrives in straits, in weakness love, 35
And faith in this world’s shame.
John Henry Newman.