| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | | My God, I thank Thee, who hast made | | By Adelaide Anne Procter (18251864) |
| | | MY God, I thank Thee, Who hast made | |
| The earth so bright; | |
| So full of splendour and of joy, | |
| Beauty and light; | |
| So many glorious things are here, | 5 |
| Noble and right. | |
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| I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made | |
| Joy to abound; | |
| So many gentle thoughts and deeds | |
| Circling us round; | 10 |
| That in the darkest spot of earth | |
| Some love is found. | |
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| I thank Thee more that all our joy | |
| Is touched with pain; | |
| That shadows fall on brightest hours, | 15 |
| That thorns remain; | |
| So that earths bliss may be our guide, | |
| And not our chain. | |
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| For Thou Who knowest, Lord, how soon | |
| Our weak heart clings, | 20 |
| Hast given us joys, tender and true, | |
| Yet all with wings, | |
| So that we see, gleaming on high, | |
| Diviner things. | |
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| I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept | 25 |
| The best in store; | |
| I have enough, yet not too much, | |
| To long for more; | |
| A yearning for a deeper peace | |
| Not known before. | 30 |
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| I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls, | |
| Though amply blest, | |
| Can never find, although they seek, | |
| A perfect rest, | |
| Nor ever shall, until they lean | 35 |
| On Jesus breast! | | | | |
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