Thanksgiving

SUPREMEST Life, and Lord of All,
I bring my thanks to Thee;
Not for the health that does not fail,
And wings me over land and sea;
Not for this body’s pearl and rose,
And radiance made sure
By thine enduring life that flows
In sky-print deep and pure;

Not for the thought whose glowing power
Glides far, eternal, free,
And surging back in thy full hour
Sweeps the wide world to me;
Not for the friends whose presence is
The warm sweet heart of things,
Where leans the body for the kiss
That gives the soul its wings;

Not for the little hands that cling,
The little feet that run,
And make the earth a fitter thing
For Thee to look upon;
Not for mine ease within my door,
My roof when rains beat strong,
My bed, my fire, my food in store,
My book when nights are long;

But, Lord, I know where on lone sands
A leper rots and cries;
Find Thou my offering in his hands,
My worship in his eyes.
As Thou dost give to him, thy least,
Thou givest unto me;
As he is fed, I make my feast
And lift my thanks to Thee!