Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/21

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!