INTO the cup of our life to-day What sweet, what spice is poured, When every step of the common way Is a garden of the Lord, With the golden lights and the purple shades Blending in rich accord. As soon might we count the star beams Or the sand on the shifting shore, As number the flowers that baffle Desire with more and more, As if heaven had opened her windows And rained them out of her store By swamp and field and meadow, On the edge of the mountain brook, By the worn old fence and the hedge-row, In the tiniest hidden nook— Flowers in royal splendor Wherever you chance to look. And the zest of the autumn noontide, The crisp of the autumn night, The feeling of rest after labor, The wonderful crystal light, It is joy of joys to be living With the year at its crowning height. Thank God for the beauty broadcast Over our own dear land; Thank God, who, to feed His children, Opens His bounteous hand; Thank God for the lavish harvests, Thank Him from strand to strand. |