Tuesday, November 29, 2005


I feel like I should compose an amazing essay on all my blessings. But since I spent my time with my mom, brother, and grandparents, I'll just share the end of "A Thanksgiving Poem" by Paul Laurence Dunbar:

Thou hast, with ever watchful eye,
Looked down on us with holy care,
And from Thy storehouse in the sky
Hast scattered plenty everywhere.

Then lift we up our songs of praise
To Thee, O Father, good and kind;
To Thee we consecrate our days;
Be Thine the temple of each mind.

With incense sweet our thanks ascend;
Before Thy works our powers pall;
Though we should strive years without end,
We could not thank Thee for them all.

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