Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/254



OW gracious plenty rules the board,

And in the purse is gold;

By multitudes in glad accord

Thy giving is extolled.

Ah, suffer me to thank Thee, Lord,

For what thou dost withhold!

I thank Thee that howe'er we climb

There yet is something higher;

That though through all our reach of time

We to the stars aspire,

Still, still beyond us burns sublime

The pure sidereal fire!

I thank Thee for the unexplained,

The hope that lies before,

The victory that is not gained,—

O Father, more and more

I thank Thee for the unattained,

The good we hunger for!