Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/21

20 As streams flow from their source, and unto whom All good on earth shall finally return As to a natural centre, praise is due To thee from all thy works, nor least from me, Though in thy scale of being light and low.

From thee is shed whate'er of joy or peace Doth sparkle in my cup,—health, hope and bliss, And pure parental love, beneath whose roof My ever grateful heart doth feel no want Of sister, or of brother, or of friend.

Therefore, to thee be all the honour given, Whether young morning with her vestal lamp Warn from my couch, or sober twilight gray Lead on the willing night, or summer-sky Spread its smooth azure, or contending storms Muster their wrath, or whether in the shade Of much loved solitude, deep wove, and close, I rest, or gaily share the social scene, Or wander wide to twine with stranger-hearts New sympathies, or wheresoever else Thy hand may place me, let my steadfast eye Behold thee, and my soul attune thy praise. To thee alone, in humble trust I come, For strength and wisdom. Leaning on thine arm Fain would I pass this intermediate state, This vale of discipline, and when its mists Shall fleet away, I trust thou wilt not leave My soul in darkness, for thy word is truth, Nor are thy thoughts like the vain thoughts of man, Nor thy ways like his ways.

Therefore I rest In hope, and sing thy praise, Father Supreme!