Lord, in this dust Thy sovereign voice <br /> First quicken'd love divine; <br />I am all Thine,—Thy care and choice, <br /> My very praise is Thine. <br /> <br />I praise Thee, while Thy providence <br /> In childhood frail I trace, <br />For blessings given, ere dawning sense <br /> Could seek or scan Thy grace; <br /> <br />Blessings in boyhood's marvelling hour, <br /> Bright dreams, and fancyings strange; <br />Blessings, when reason's awful power <br /> Gave thought a bolder range; {46} <br /> <br />Blessings of friends, which to my door <br /> Unask'd, unhoped, have come; <br />And, choicer still, a countless store <br /> Of eager smiles at home. <br /> <br />Yet, Lord, in memory's fondest place <br /> I shrine those seasons sad, <br />When, looking up, I saw Thy face <br /> In kind austereness clad. <br /> <br />I would not miss one sigh or tear, <br /> Heart-pang, or throbbing brow; <br />Sweet was the chastisement severe, <br /> And sweet its memory now. <br /> <br />Yes! let the fragrant scars abide, <br /> Love-tokens in Thy stead, <br />Faint shadows of the spear-pierced side <br /> And thorn-encompass'd head. <br /> <br />And such Thy tender force be still, <br /> When self would swerve or stray, <br />Shaping to truth the froward will <br /> Along Thy narrow way. {47} <br /> <br />Deny me wealth; far, far remove <br /> The lure of power or name; <br />Hope thrives in straits, in weakness love, <br /> And faith in this world's shame.<br /><br />John Henry Newman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-thanksgiving/
