  ——— Lord God, I turn on this Thanksgiving Day, To view the path o’er which I’ve made my way, Although a path of thorns my eye may greet, Although I feel the sting still in my feet; Although the harvest fail my barn to fill, With grateful heart I bow and thank Thee still. For I am sure what e’er has been my lot, How meek, how poor is more than I deserve. Unto Thy will I bow and murmur not. I’ll not condemn His justice—whom I serve. I’ll not complain and call Thee, Father, stern. Because Thy sacred plans I’ve failed to learn; The cause of all this grief I cannot tell, And yet, like Job of old, I’ll not rebel. Lord God, I turn on this Thanksgiving Day, To view the path o’er which I made my way. Although I feel the sting still in my feet, Although the harvest fail my barn to fill, With grateful heart I bow and thank Thee still. |
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