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THANKSGIVING
NOW gracious plenty rules the board,
And in the purse is gold;
By multitudes in glad accord
Thy giving is extolled.
Ah, suffer me to thank Thee, Lord,
For what thou dost withhold!
I thank Thee that howe'er we climb
There yet is something higher;
That though through all our reach of time
We to the stars aspire,
Still, still beyond us burns sublime
The pure sidereal fire!
I thank Thee for the unexplained,
The hope that lies before,
The victory that is not gained,—
O Father, more and more
I thank Thee for the unattained,
The good we hunger for!
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