Song of Thanksgiving
This inspiring prayer - Song of Thanksgiving, reminds us that we should be grateful for our human abilities, such as being able to trust, to love, to feel, to hear, & to help others.
Song of Thanksgiving
by Angela Morgan
Thank God I can rejoice
In human things--the multitude's glad voice,
The street's warm surge beneath the city light,
The rush of hurrying faces on my sight,
The million-celled emotion in the press
That would their human fellowship confess.
Thank Thee because I may my brother feed,
That Thou hast opened me unto his need,
Kept me from being callous, cold and blind,
Taught me the melody of being kind.
Thus, for my own and for my brother's sake--
Thank Thee I am awake!
Thank Thee that I can trust!
That though a thousand times I feel the thrust
Of faith betrayed, I still have faith in man,
Believe him pure and good since time began--
Thy child forever, though he may forget
The perfect mould in which his soul was set.
Thank Thee that when love dies, fresh love springs up.
New wonders pour from Heaven's cup.
Young to my soul the ancient need returns,
Immortal in my heart the ardor burns;
My altar fires replenished from above--
Thank Thee that I can love!
Thank Thee that I can hear,
Finely and keenly with the inner ear,
Below the rush and clamor of a throng
The mighty music of the under-song.
And when the day has journeyed to its rest,
Lo, as I listen, from the amber west,
Where the great organ lifts its glowing spires,
There sounds the chanting of the unseen choirs.
Thank Thee for sight that shows the hidden flame
Beneath all breathing, throbbing things the same,
Thy Pulse the pattern of the thing to be....
Thank Thee that I can see!
Thank Thee that I can feel!
That though life's blade be terrible as steel,
My soul is stript and naked to the fang,
I crave the stab of beauty and the pang.
"To be alive,
To think, to yearn, to strive,"
To suffer torture when the goal is wrong,
To be sent back and fashioned strong
Rejoicing in the lesson that was taught
By all the good the grim experience wrought;
At last, exulting, to "arrive"....
Thank God I am alive!
~Angela Morgan (1875-1957)
Angela Morgan, who's actual birth name was "Nina Lillian," was a journalist, singer, author, poet, and lecturer.
Her first book of poems, The Hour Has Struck, was published in 1914.
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