A Hymn of Praise

I BLESS Thee for the sunshine on the hills,
For Heaven's own dewdrops in the vales below,
For rain, the parent cloud alike distils,
On the fond bridegroom's joy--the mourner's woe!
And for the viewless wind, that gently blows
Where'er it listeth, over field and flood,
Whence coming, whither going, no man knows,
Yet moved in secret at Thy will, Oh, God!
E'en now it lifts a ring of shining hair
From off the brow close to my bosom pressed--
The loving angels scarce have brows more fair
Than this, that looks so peaceful in its rest:--
We bless Thee, Father, for our darling child,
Oh, like Thine angels make her, innocent and mild!

I rise and bless Thee, for the morning hours;
Refreshed and gladdened by a timely rest,
When thoughts like bees, rove out among the flowers,
Still gathering honey where they find the best:
And for the gentle influence of the night,
Oh, Heavenly Father! do we bend the knee,
That shuts the curtains of our mortal sight,
Yet leaves the mind, with range and vision free,
For dreams! the solemn, weird, and strange that come
And bear the soul to an elysian clime,--
Unveiling splendours of that better home,
Where angels minister to sons of time!
For all Thy blessings that with sleep descend,
Our hearts shall praise Thee, God, our Father and our Friend!