The sun hath shed its kindly light, <br />Our harvesting is gladly o'er <br />Our fields have felt no killing blight, <br />Our bins are filled with goodly store. <br /> <br />From pestilence, fire, flood, and sword <br />We have been spared by thy decree, <br />And now with humble hearts, O Lord, <br />We come to pay our thanks to thee. <br /> <br />We feel that had our merits been <br />The measure of thy gifts to us, <br />We erring children, born of sin, <br />Might not now be rejoicing thus. <br /> <br />No deed of ours hath brought us grace; <br />When thou were nigh our sight was dull, <br />We hid in trembling from thy face, <br />But thou, O God, wert merciful. <br /> <br />Thy mighty hand o'er all the land <br />Hath still been open to bestow <br />Those blessings which our wants demand <br />From heaven, whence all blessings flow. <br /> <br />Thou hast, with ever watchful eye, <br />Looked down on us with holy care, <br />And from thy storehouse in the sky <br />Hast scattered plenty everywhere. <br /> <br />Then lift we up our songs of praise <br />To thee, O Father, good and kind; <br />To thee we consecrate our days; <br />Be thine the temple of each mind. <br /> <br />With incense sweet our thanks ascend; <br />Before thy works our powers pall; <br />Though we should strive years without end, <br />We could not thank thee for them all.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-thanksgiving-poem/
