Classic Poem

O God, I thank part of me,
With every glowing part of me,
From the whole heart of me,
I thank Thee, God!
How shall I say it? What the words to tell
The warm, sweet glory and the bosom swell?
Forgive the language of my simple tongue;
I cannot say what wiser ones have sung.
Listen, and I will tell it, God, in my own way;
For I must speak it on this wonder day.

Somehow, Father — be it not shame to me! —
'Tis in such humble ways I compass Thee
I seem to see Thee in the simplest things:
Foamy water that bubbles and sings,
Bursting in rainbows over the washtub's rim;
The clean, sweet clothes filling my basket to the brim —
How white they flutter at the wind's brisk will
That whips them whiter still!
And when, over the ironing-board billowing clover sweet,
They smooth to satin beneath the friendly heat,
I feel such thrill of happiness ... Forgive me, Lord,
If praise like mine should not accord!

God, I am one who cannot understand
The fearful works of Thy mysterious hand,
The great immensity that swings above;
The thing I understand is human love.
Yea, human love and human things: the touch
Of well-worn objects that I love so much —
Cushion and chair, dishes and pan and broom,
The comradeship of a familiar room;
My plants there in the window, and the glow
Of shining tin things hanging in a row.
Scorn, if Thou wilt, my common human way —
I must speak truth and only truth this day.

O God, I seem to find Thee everywhere!
The steam that rises from the kettle there
Seems more a miracle, somehow, to me.
Than all the heavenly marvels that I see.
The hum of dear things cooking on the range
Fills me with rapture; Father, is it strange
Since these Thy products are of grain and food
And Thou Thyself hast called them very good?
And is it wrong, O God — my surging pride
When the rejoicing oven door swings wide
On russet bakings. I have made to feed
My hungry brood? Thou knowest, Lord, their need
Thou knowest how they lean to me for life;
Even the strong, brave man who calls me wife —
The father of my flock — must look to me
For blood and sinew and the strength to be.
This, then, the greatest, dearest thing of all —
To know that I may answer to their call;
That Thou hast made me mother, friend and mate,
Keeper of life and molder of their fate.
By this I know the universe as Thine —
That hearts and homes and people are divine!
Is there a greater gift in Thy store?
My woman's heart is full — I ask no more.

O God, I thank Thee!
With every glowing part of me,
From the whole heart of me,
I thank Thee, God!