Gratitude

God gave a Loaf to every Bird— But just a Crumb—to Me—

Is it so small a thing To have enjoyed the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done; To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes?

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting.

Nor for you, for one alone, Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring, For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.

The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings, on the walk in the street and the passage over the river.

O may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence.

Have you found your life distasteful? My life did and does smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I’ll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you, And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems, and new! 2

Come, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest-home; All is safely gathered in, Ere the winter storms begin.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here’s a double health to thee! Here’s a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And, whatever sky’s above me, Here’s a heart for every fate.

O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware.

O the one life within us and abroad, Which meets all motion and becomes its soul, A light in sound, a sound-like power in light, Rhythm in all thought, and joyance everywhere— Methinks, it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world so filled.

O Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like again?

Surprised by joy—impatient as the wind.

While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.

Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it; But we hae meat, and we can eat, And sae the Lord be thankit.

The golden hours on angel wings Flew o’er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary.

For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet For auld lang syne!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min’? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o’ auld lang syne?

Contented wi’ little and cantie wi’ mair.

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.