Thanksgiving

We walk on starry fields of white         And do not see the daisies;     For blessings common in our sight         We rarely offer praises.     We sigh for some supreme delight         To crown our lives with splendor,     And quite ignore our daily store         Of pleasures sweet and tender.     Our cares are bold and push their way         Upon our thought and feeling.     They hang about us all the day,         Our time from pleasure stealing.     So unobtrusive many a joy         We pass by and forget it,     But worry strives to own our lives         And conquers if we let it.     There's not a day in all the year         But holds some hidden pleasure,     And looking back, joys oft appear         To brim the past's wide measure.     But blessings are like friends, I hold,         Who love and labor near us.     We ought to raise our notes of praise         While living hearts can hear us.     Full many a blessing wears the guise         Of worry or of trouble.     Farseeing is the soul and wise         Who knows the mask is double.     But he who has the faith and strength         To thank his God for sorrow     Has found a joy without alloy         To gladden every morrow.     We ought to make the moments notes         Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;     The hours and days a silent phrase         Of music we are living.     And so the theme should swell and grow         As weeks and months pass o'er us,     And rise sublime at this good time,         A grand Thanksgiving chorus.