Poems (Denver)/A Thanksgiving

by Mary Caroline Denver and Jane Campbell Denver

For works with similar titles, see A Thanksgiving.

A THANKSGIVING.

Father! I said, when sickness and pale sorrow
 Had brought me to death's door, a guest forlorn,
When every hope seemed bounded by to-morrow,
 And life's fair fabric into fragments tornn
If from the grave, I said, Thou wouldst restore me,
 Withdraw the shadow from my drooping eyes,
And cast the banner of Thy dear love o'er me,
 My lyre's first accents unto Thee should rise.

And I have sat beside the gushing fountain,
 And heard a language lips may never speak;
Have stood upon the green and sloping mountain,
 And felt heaven's breezes blowing on my cheek;
Have watched the birds of passage gayly winging
 Their trackless paths across the summer main,
And felt in God's dear light a new hope springing
 Within my heart, and bounding through each vein.

Warm hands have clasped mine own, kind eyes have greeted
 The wandering exile to a home most dear,
Fond words of welcome, oftentimes repeated,
 Have proven sweetest music to my ear;
And, with a saddened heart, yet unrepining,
 I tread the paths I oft before have trod,
With arm and thought and heart all intertwining
 With one now gathered to the fold of God!

And now I come with chastened heart, my Father,
 To praise Thy goodness and adore Thy grace,
Who, when death's billows paused, new strength to gather,
 Led me to seek, with earnest heart, Thy face!
Thou, Who didst teach me, travel-worn and weary
 To cast my burden of unrest on Thee;
And when the night was long, the prospect dreary,
 The comfort of Thy Presence gave to me!

I thank Thee for the many blessings scattered
 Along my path, from childhood until now,
And though full many an idol Thou hast shattered,
 And into dust and darkness laid them low,
I know in love Thou didst it—that, returning
 From paths forbidden and from ways unblest,
The broken heart might come, repenting, yearning
 For peace and pardon on a Saviour's breast.

Still let me love Thee! where Thy Glory dwelleth,
 And where Thy praise is heard, there let me be!
When to the heavens the sacred anthem swelleth,
 O, lift my soul triumphantly to Thee!
Still let me trust Thee! though the path before me
 Be full of vexing cares or wild alarms;
Still let the mantle of Thy love be o'er me,
 Uphold me with Thine everlasting arms!