"Whatever father or mother wanted done in the house, fetching water, drink, bread, meat, looking after the house and other things of that sort, whatever he was bidden, that did the dear little Jesus, like any other child." --_Martin Luther_ [End illustration] {75} A SONG OF THANKSGIVING We plough the fields and scatter The good seed on the land, But it is fed and watered By God's almighty hand; He sends the snow in winter, The warmth to swell the grain, The breezes and the sunshine, And soft refreshing rain. All good gifts around us Are sent from heaven above, Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord, For all His love! He only is the Maker Of all things near and far; He paints the wayside flower, He lights the evening star; The winds and waves obey Him, By Him the birds are fed; Much more to us, His children, He gives our daily bread. All good gifts around us Are sent from heaven above, Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord, For all His love! We thank Thee, then, O Father, For all things bright and good, The seedtime and the harvest, Our life, our health, our food; {76} Accept the gifts we offer For all Thy love imparts, And what Thou most desirest, Our humble, thankful hearts. All good gifts around us Are sent from heaven above, Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord, For all His love! --_From the German of Mathias Claudius_. {77} HEAVEN IS NOT REACHED AT A SINGLE BOUND Heaven is not reached at a single bound, But we build the ladder on which we rise, From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to the summit round by round. I count this thing to be grandly true, That a noble deed is a step toward God,-- Lifting a soul from the common clod, To a purer air and a broader view. --_J. G. Holland_. By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons. {78} STILL, STILL WITH THEE Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee: Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee. Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows, The solemn hush of Nature newly born; Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer; Sweet the repose, beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing, But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there. So shall it be at last in that bright morning When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee; O in that hour, and fairer than day's dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee. --_Harriet Beecher Stowe_. {79}