Nov 24, 2011

A Thanksgiving Prayer

From stacked-up cities that once were strong and proud,
And from far hills half hid by fleeting cloud,
From fallow farms by dusty crooked roads
Where oaken wagons bent ‘neath heavy loads,
Where curling leaves on yellow stubble lie,
Where geese wing far in azure-tinted sky,
From woodland smoke that floats on pungent air,
Great God of life, accept our humble prayer!

Lord, guard our feet from sting of wayside thorn,
Grant that our pride be undefiled by scorn,
And that our eyes shall not be blind to shame,
That our chill souls shall kindle to Thy flame.
Be deaf to boast of what our hands have made
For naught shall be the palaces we rear
If lurks within our hearts a gnawing fear
—and we’re afraid.

Pray grant today the warmth of heart we felt
In simple faith that blessed us as we knelt
In faith that fell like dew at early morn
When first we reaped the ears of rustling corn,
The childlike sense of latent inner power,
Wit wise enough to glory in a flower,
The peace that eases every numbing pain
—and joy of rain.

Up from thronged cities, such as cities are,
From o’er far hills where spring one twinkling star,
From youthful laughter like a hidden stream,
From aging hearts that faltering still can dream.

-by Floyd O. Rittenhouse

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