Show win am t I 1 ur D fir I 1 band and st t them the th G of thanksgiving deaun evil a lord what have I 1 but empty hands and aching feet from hopeless quests and memories of barren lands and days and years of sore unrests un rests restal th the e censer that I 1 fain would swing molds holds neither fragrant herb nor spices i there are no first fruits I 1 may bring to heap tn in thanh thankful ful sacrifice shall I 1 arnid amid lifes stubble glean to find the grain the harvest leaves leave then gaze contented and serene the while my neighbors count their sheaves 7 there Is no gold nor house nor land that I 1 may thank thee it Is minal I 1 may not measure with my hand thy tithing of my corn and wine had I 1 all these then might I 1 kneel and pray with fervent easy speech that were en an echo of my weal of all that was within my reach shall I 1 with pharisaic grace bow down and play the hypocrite and fling my prayer tn in thy face with not a heart bom horri word in tta it nay not tn in money let me count 1 the worth of all that I 1 have hadi had nor tell the amount of what rich gifts have made me alsa though I 1 have tasted of defeat SUU still have I 1 left the strength to rise the tempter or the foe to meet with newer courage tn in my eyes so thus I 1 pray with empty hands but not lord with an empty heart i though from fair houses and ancl rich lands my illy lines are ever cast apart poor in all things save sava this that I 1 need never thanh thee for my spoil and that there Is 13 no haunting sigh to break my slumber after toll 2 fa oy 7 W 0 |