For What I Bless Thee

I bless Thee, O my God, I bless Thee, for the morn—
The fragrant, dew-dipped morn;
Who comes all blushing from the arms of night,
Like some fair bride—so lovely and so bright;
Who spangles all the blossoms fair with dew
And tints the vaulted skies with palest blue;
Who wakes to life and light the powers of earth,
And wears a starry jewel at her birth;
O, she doth speak of Thee to the forlorn:
I bless Thee for the morn.

I bless Thee, O my God, I bless Thee, for the noon—
The golden, sunny noon;
When in the field at work the reaper sings
While ’mid the corn and poppies bright the wild bee wings;
The farmer’s wife, bare-armed and rosy-faced,
Doth, at the vine-clad door, survey the sun’s bright trace,
And taking from the wall a shining form,
Calls to the men at work through echoing horn.
O, when the noon is nigh the night comes soon;
I bless Thee for the noon.

I bless Thee, O my God, I bless Thee, for the night—
The still and solemn night;
When folded in the arms of sleep all nature lies,
And peace—sweet peace—doth kiss down tired eyes;
When toil and care, and pain and tumult wild
Forgotten are by age and youth and child:
No eye but Thine its ceaseless vigil keeps,
Wrapped in oblivion then creation sleeps;
Covered ’neath one great shield are wrong and right;
I bless Thee for the night!