57 Joyful Poems About Gratefulness

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Here are my favorite poems about gratefulness categorized:

  • Short poems about gratefulness
  • Famous poems about gratefulness
  • Beautiful poems about gratefulness
  • Inspirational poems on gratefulness

So if you want the best poems about gratefulness, then you’re in the right place.

Let’s get right into it!

57 Joyful Poems About Gratefulness (+ My #1 Favorite)
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Joyful Poems About Gratefulness

a beautiful and happy young woman lying in the field with daisy flowers

Gratitude is a heartfelt and humble emotion that arises when we recognize the blessings in our lives.

This sentiment has been eloquently portrayed in poetry over the years.

Within this compilation, we have handpicked a selection of our preferred poems about gratefulness, each presenting a distinct viewpoint on this influential feeling.

From the immortal verses of William Ernest Henley to the soul-stirring words of Elizabeth Browning, these poems will transport you on a voyage of contemplation and thankfulness.

Therefore, take a moment to unwind and allow these poetic depictions of gratitude to ignite inspiration and bring joy to your soul.

Let’s begin!

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My #1 Favorite Poem About Gratefulness

a  stunning red haired woman in a field of sunflowers

“A Little Thankful Song” by Frank L. Stanton

For what are we thankful for? For this:
For the breath and the sunlight of life
For the love of the child, and the kiss
On the lips of the mother and wife.
For roses entwining,
For bud and for bloom,
And hopes that are shining
Like stars in the gloom.

For what are we thankful for? For this:
The strength and the patience of toil;
For ever the dreams that are bliss—
The hope of the seed in the soil.
For souls that are whiter
From day unto day;
And lives that are brighter
From going God’s way.

For what are we thankful for? For all:
The sunlight—the shadow—the song;
The blossoms may wither and fall,
But the world moves in music along!
For simple, sweet living,
(Tis love that doth teach it)
A heaven forgiving
And faith that can reach it!

Why “A Little Thankful Song” Is My Favorite Poem About Gratefulness

a mysterious blonde woman in a ball gown surrounded by candles

“A Little Thankful Song” is a refreshing and delicate reminder to be thankful for the little things in life that we often take for granted.

Each line expresses utmost gratitude for the many things around us that sustain life, such as the air that we breathe and the sun that gives the energy that the world needs.

Reading the beautiful words of Frank Stanton has inspired me to continue appreciating the people around me, my loved ones, and especially my family, for without them, I wouldn’t be here today.

This heartwarming poem is exactly what we all need in today’s fast-paced world, where often we forget to appreciate what’s readily available to us.

Let this poem be a gentle nudge to celebrate the beauty of life every day, to be in the moment, and to take the time to smell the flowers.

Short Poems About Gratefulness

a radiant woman basking in the beauty of a floral field

The power of gratitude is often underestimated, yet it possesses the ability to transform ordinary moments into extraordinary blessings.

In this selection of short poems, be immersed in the enchanting rhythm of words as we delve into the wonders of gratefulness, with each verse serving as a gentle reminder to cherish the gifts that surround us.

Let’s jump right in!

a pretty woman in a long purple dress walking in grass field

“Gratitude” by Gray

What is grandeur, what is power?
Heavier toil, superior pain.
What the bright reward we gain?
The grateful memory of the good.
Sweet is the scent of vernal shower,
The bee’s collected treasures sweet;
Sweet music’s melting fall, but sweeter yet
The still small voice of gratitude.

“Thankfulness” by Jean Blewett

I thank Thee, Lord,
For every joyous hour
That has been mine!
For every strengthening and helpful word,
For every tender sound that I have heard,
I thank Thee, Lord!

I thank Thee, Lord,
For work and weariness
That have been mine!
For patience toward one groping toward the light,
For mid-day burden and for rest of night,
I thank Thee, Lord.

“Thankfulness” by R. C. Trench

Some murmur when the sky is clear
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God’s good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.
In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,
And all good things denied.
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.

a beautiful young woman in white dress stay on earth and watch the starry sky and the moon planet

“On the Eclipse of the Moon, July 30, 1776” by John Newton, William Cowper

The moon in silver glory shone,
And not a cloud in sight,
When suddenly a shade begun
To intercept her light.
How fast across her orb it spread!
How fast her light withdrew!
A circle, ting’d with languid red,
Was all appear’d in view.
While many with unmeaning eye,
Gaze on thy works in vain,
Assist me, Lord, that I may try
Instruction to obtain.
Fain would my thankful heart and lips
Unite in praise of Thee,
And meditate on thy eclipse
In sad Gethsemane.

“To Shakespeare” by Frances Anne Kemble

Oft, when my lips I open to rehearse
Thy wondrous spell of wisdom, and of power,
And that my voice, and thy immortal verse,
On listening ears, and hearts, I mingled pour,
I shrink dismayed – and awful doth appear
The vain presumption of my own weak deed;
Thy glorious spirit seems to mine so near,
That suddenly I tremble as I read –
Thee an invisible auditor I fear:
Oh, if it might be so, my master dear!
With what beseeching would I pray to thee,
To make me equal to my noble task,
Succor from thee, how humbly would I ask,
Thy worthiest works to utter worthily.

“Tears” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well—
That is light grieving! lighter, none befell,
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing; at her marriage bell
The bride weeps; and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills, the poet has forgot
Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace,
Ye who weep only! If, as some have done,
Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place,
And touch but tombs,—look up! Those tears will run
Soon in long rivers down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.

a stunning blonde woman in a field of orange sunflowers

“Per Aspera” by Florence Earle Coates

Thank God, a man can grow!
He is not bound
With earthward gaze to creep along the ground:
Though his beginnings be but poor and low,
Thank God, a man can grow!
The fire upon his altars may burn dim,
The torch he lighted may in darkness fail,
And nothing to rekindle it avail,—
Yet high beyond his dull horizon’s rim,
Arcturus and the Pleiads beckon him.

“To My Wife” by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (Arthur Hubbell Palmer, Translator)

Pray take these pearls! —and my thanks for them
You lavished, the home of my youth to gem!
The thousands of hours of peaceful luster
Your spirit has filled, are pearls that cluster
With beauty blest
On my happy breast,
And softly shining
My brow are entwining
With thoughts whence the truth gleams:
Thus gave his wife,
Who jeweled with tenderest love his life!

“At Hansteen’s Bier” by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (Arthur Hubbell Palmer, Translator)

God, we thank Thee for the dower
Thou gavest Norway in his power,
Whom in the grave we now shall lay!
Starlit paths of thoughts that awe us
His spirit found; his deeds now draw us
To deeds, as mighty magnets play.
He was the first to stand
A light in our free land;
Of our present the first fair crown,
The first renown,
At Norway’s feet he laid it down.

a content woman relaxing in a cool garden of pink blossoms

“A Grace Before Meat” by Robert Burns

O Thou in whom we live and move,
Who mad’st the sea and shore,
Thy goodness constantly we prove, ·
And grateful would adore.
And ifit please thee, Power above,
Still grant us with such store,
The friend we trust, the fair we love,
And we desire no more.

“A Grace” by Robert Burns

Lord, we thank and thee adore,
For temp’ral gifts we little merit;
At present we will ask no more,
Let William Hyslop give the spirit.

Famous Poems About Gratefulness

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Gratitude transcends time and culture and has inspired countless poets to capture its essence in their words.

From the heartfelt verses of the world’s most celebrated poets, these famous poems about gratefulness illuminate the beauty of appreciating life’s blessings with a touch of poetic magic.

Keep reading!

a blonde woman with flowers

“Gratitude” by Henry van Dyke

“Do you give thanks for this?—or that?” No, God be thanked
I am not grateful
In that cold, calculating way, with blessings ranked
As one, two, three, and four,—that would be hateful.

I only know that every day brings good above
My poor deserving;
I only feel that in the road of Life true Love
Is leading me along and never swerving.

Whatever gifts and mercies to my lot may fall,
I would not measure
As worth a certain price in praise, or great or small;
But take and use them all with simple pleasure.

For when we gladly eat our daily bread, we bless
The Hand that feeds us;
And when we tread the road of Life in cheerfulness,
Our very heart-beats praise the Love that leads us.

“Thanks For A Gift” by Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

The sugar, candles, and the saddled mule,
Together with your cask of malvoisie,
So far exceed all my necessity
That Michael and not I my debt must rule,
In such a glassy calm the breezes fool
My sinking sails, so that amid the sea
My bark hath missed her way, and seems to be
A wisp of straw whirled on a weltering pool.
To yield thee gift for gift and grace for grace,
For food and drink and carriage to and fro,
For all my need in every time and place,
O my dear lord, matched with the much I owe,
All that I am were no real recompense:
Paying a debt is not munificence.

From “Another Chance” by Henry van Dyke

And love!—I often dream of that—the treasure of the earth;
How little they who use the coin have realised its worth!
‘Twill pay all debts, enrich all hearts, and make all joys secure.
But love, to do its perfect work, must be sincere and pure.

My heart is full of virgin gold. I’ll pour it out and spend
My hidden wealth with open hand on all who call me friend.
Not one shall miss the kindly deed, the largess of relief,
The generous fellowship of joy, the sympathy of grief.

I’ll say the loyal, helpful things that make life sweet and fair,
I’ll pay the gratitude I owe for human love and care.
Perhaps I’ve been at fault sometimes—I’ll ask to be forgiven,
And make this little room of mine seem like a bit of heaven.

For one by one I’ll call my friends to stand beside my bed;
I’ll speak the true and tender words so often left unsaid;
And every heart shall throb and glow, all coldness melt away
Around my altar-fire of love—ah, give me but one day!

a graceful princess with flowing white hair and a bouquet of flowers in an enchanting the forest

“Thank God For Life” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Thank God for life, in such an age as this,
Rich with the promises of better things.
Thank God for being part of this great nation’s heart,
Whose strong pulsations are not ruled by kings.

Our thanks for fearless and protesting speech
When cloven hoofs show ‘neath the robes of state.
For us no servile song of ‘Kings can do no wrong.’
Not royal birth, but worth, makes rulers great.

Thank God for peace within our border lands,
And for the love of peace within each soul.
Who thinks on peace has wrought, mosaic-squares of thought
In the foundation of our future goal.

Our thanks for love, and knowledge of love’s laws.
Love is a greater power than vested might.
Love is the central source of all enduring force.
Love is the law that sets the whole world right.

Our thanks for that increasing torch of light
The tireless hand of science holds abroad.
And may its growing blaze shine on all hidden ways
Till man beholds the silhouette of God.

“Thanksgiving” by James Whitcomb Riley

Let us be thankful—not only because
Since last our universal thanks were told
We have grown greater in the world’s applause,
And fortune’s newer smiles surpass the old—

But thankful for all things that come as alms
From out the open hand of Providence:—
The winter clouds and storms—the summer calms—
The sleepless dread—the drowse of indolence.

Let us be thankful—thankful for the prayers
Whose gracious answers were long, long delayed,
That they might fall upon us unawares,
And bless us, as in greater need we prayed.

Let us be thankful for the loyal hand
That love held out in welcome to our own,
When love and only love could understand
The need of touches we had never known.

Let us be thankful for the longing eyes
That gave their secret to us as they wept,
Yet in return found, with a sweet surprise,
Love’s touch upon their lids, and, smiling, slept.

And let us, too, be thankful that the tears
Of sorrow have not all been drained away,
That through them still, for all the coming years,
We may look on the dead face of To-day.

“Thanksgiving Ode, November 15th, 1888” by James McIntyre

September came and with it frost
The season’s pasture it seemed lost,
And the wondrous yield of corn
Of its green beauty it was shorn.

Frost it came like early robber,
But gentle rains came in October,
Which were absorbed by grateful soil;
With green once more the pastures smile.

And cows again are happy seen
Enjoying of the pastures green,
And flow of milk again they yield
From the sweet feed of grassy field.

And we have now a fine November,
Warmer far than in September;
The apple, which is queen of fruits,
Was a good crop and so is roots.

The rains they did replenish springs,
And it gratitude to each heart brings,
When we reflect on bounteous season,
For grateful feelings all have reason.

a flower nymph in a peach dress, peach blossom petals  floating in the wind

“A Thanksgiving Poem” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

The sun hath shed its kindly light,
Our harvesting is gladly o’er
Our fields have felt no killing blight,
Our bins are filled with goodly store.

From pestilence, fire, flood, and sword
We have been spared by thy decree,
And now with humble hearts, O Lord,
We come to pay our thanks to thee.

We feel that had our merits been
The measure of thy gifts to us,
We erring children, born of sin,
Might not now be rejoicing thus.

No deed of our hath brought us grace;
When thou were nigh our sight was dull,
We hid in trembling from thy face,
But thou, O God, wert merciful.

Thy mighty hand o’er all the land
Hath still been open to bestow
Those blessings which our wants demand
From heaven, whence all blessings flow.

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.

“Our Prayer of Thanks” by Carl Sandburg

For the gladness here where the sun is shining at evening on the weeds at the river,
Our prayer of thanks.
For the laughter of children who tumble barefooted and bareheaded in the summer grass,
Our prayer of thanks.

For the sunset and the stars, the women and the white arms that hold us,
Our prayer of thanks.
If you are deaf and blind, if this is all lost to you,
God, if the dead in their coffins amid the silver handles on the edge of town, or the reckless dead of war days thrown unknown in pits, if these dead are forever deaf and blind and lost,
Our prayer of thanks.

The game is all your way, the secrets and the signals and the system; and so for the break of the game and the first play and the last.
Our prayer of thanks.

“Invictus” by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud;
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.

a beautiful girl with a smile on her face, dressed in light summer clothes, sits among wild flowers at sunset.

“Sonnets from the Portuguese: XLI” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart’s
Or temple’s occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice’s sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art’s
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To harken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My soul’s full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from life that disappears!

From “For Annie” by Edgar Allan Poe

Thank Heaven! the crisis,—
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last,—
And the fever called “Living”
Is conquered at last.

“Memorial Day” by Joyce Kilmer

“Dulce et decorum est”

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of war it sings to-day.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
Of men-at-arms who come to pray.

The roses blossom white and red
On tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
And martial music cleaves the sky.

Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
They kept the faith and fought the fight.
Through flying lead and crimson steel
They plunged for Freedom and the Right.

May we, their grateful children, learn
Their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went through fire and death to earn
At last the accolade of God.

In shining rank on rank arrayed
They march, the legions of the Lord;
He is their Captain unafraid,
The Prince of Peace . . . Who brought a sword.

a carefree young beautiful woman running in field of flowers

From “The Farewell” by Robert Burns

What bursting anguish tears my heart!
From thee, my Jeany, must I part!
Thou weeping answ’rest—No!’
Alas! misfortune stares my face,
And points to ruin and disgrace,
I for thy sake must go!
Thee, Hamilton, and Aiken dear,
A grateful, warm adieu;
I, with a much-indebted tear,
Shall still remember you!
All-hail then, the gale then,
Wafts me from thee, dear shore!
It rustles, and whistles I’ll never see thee more!

“America’s Thanksgiving” by James Whitcomb Riley

Father all bountiful, in mercy bear
With this our universal voice of prayer –
The voice that needs must be
Upraised in thanks to Thee,
O Father, from Thy children everywhere.

A multitudinous voice, wherein we fain
Wouldst have Thee hear no lightest sob of pain –
No murmur of distress,
Nor moan of loneliness,
Nor drip of tears, though soft as summer rain.

And, Father, give us first to comprehend,
No ill can come from Thee; lean Thou and lend
Us clearer sight to see
Our boundless debt to Thee,
Since all Thy deeds are blessings, in the end.

And let us feel and know that, being Thine,
We are inheritors of hearts divine,
And hands endowed with skill,
And strength to work Thy will,
And fashion to fulfilment Thy design.

So, let us thank Thee, with all self aside,
Nor any lingering taint of mortal pride;
As here to Thee we dare
Uplift our faltering prayer,
Lend it some fervor of the glorified.

We thank Thee that our land is loved of Thee
The blessed home of thrift and industry,
With ever-open door
Of welcome to the poor –
Thy shielding hand o’er all abidingly.

E’en thus we thank Thee for the wrong that grew
Into a right that heroes battled to,
With brothers long estranged,
Once more as brothers ranged
Beneath the red and white and starry blue.

Ay, thanks – though tremulous the thanks expressed –
Thanks for the battle at its worst, and best –
For all the clanging fray
Whose discord dies away
Into a pastoral-song of peace and rest.

Beautiful Poems About Gratefulness

woman in pastel-colored summer dress in wildflower field

Explore a collection of heartfelt verses that capture the essence of gratitude, inspiring and uplifting your spirit with their beauty and meaning.

In these beautiful poems about gratefulness, each line is delicately crafted to remind us of the countless blessings we have in our lives.

Let’s get started!

a young woman in white summer dress, standing in a big field with sage in bloom, holding a wicker bag with flowers

“Hymn To Gratitude” by Joseph Addison

When all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I’m lost
In wonder, love, and praise!

O, how shall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish’d heart?
But thou canst read it there.

When in the slippery paths of youth
With heedless steps I ran,
Thine arm, unseen, convey’d me safe,
And led me up to man.

When worn with sickness, oft hast
Thou With health renew’d my face;
And when in sin and sorrow sunk,
Reviv’d my soul with grace.

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Has made my cup run o’er,
And in a kind and faithful friend
Has doubled all my store.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts,
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart
That tastes those gifts with joy.

Through ev’ry period of my life.
Thy goodness I’ll pursue;
And after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.

When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,
My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy shall adore.

Through all eternity to Thee
Ajoyful song I’ll raise;
But O, eternity’s too short
To utter all Thy praise!

“Creation” by Unknown

God made the sky, that looks so blue,
He made the grass so green;
And all the flowers that smell so sweet,
In pretty colours seen.

God made the sun, that shines so bright,
And gladdens all I see;
It comes to give us heat and light:
How thankful should we be!

God made the cow to give nice milk,
The horse, for us to use:
I’ll treat them kindly, for his sake,
Nor dare his gifts abuse.

God made the pretty bird to fly;
How sweetly has she sung!
And though she soars so very high,
She ne’er forgets her young.

God made the water for our drink,
He made the fish to swim:
He made the trees to bear their fruit,
Oh ! how should I love Him?

“Rules For Daily Life” by Unknown

Begin the day with God:
Kneel down to him in prayer;
Lift up thy heart to his abode
And seek his love to share.

Open the Book of God,
And read a portion there;
That it may hallow all thy thoughts
And sweeten all thy care.

Go through the day with God,
Whate’er thy work may be;
Where’er thou art—at home, abroad,
He still is near to thee.

Converse in mind with God;
Thy spirit heavenward raise;
Acknowledge every good bestowed,
And offer grateful praise.

Conclude the day with God:
Thy sins to him confess;
Trust in the Lord’s atoning blood,
And plead his righteousness.

Lie down at night with God,
Who gives his servants sleep;
And when thou tread’st the vale of death
He will thee guard and keep.

a woman releasing a pink butterfly into the sky, symbolizing transformation, resilience, and the journey toward healing

“A Song of Thanks” by James Weldon Johnson

For the sun that shone at the dawn of spring,
For the flowers which bloom and the birds that sing,
For the verdant robe of the gray old earth,
For her coffers filled with their countless worth,
For the flocks which feed on a thousand hills,
For the rippling streams which turn the mills,
For the lowing herds in the lovely vale,
For the songs of gladness on the gale,—
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans’ banks,—
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the farmer reaping his whitened fields,
For the bounty which the rich soil yields,
For the cooling dews and refreshing rains,
For the sun which ripens the golden grains,
For the bearded wheat and the fattened swine,
For the stalled ox and the fruitful vine,
For the tubers large and cotton white,
For the kid and the lambkin frisk and blithe,
For the swan which floats near the river-banks,—
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the pumpkin sweet and the yellow yam,
For the corn and beans and the sugared ham, ion
For the plum and the peach and the apple red,
For the dear old press where the wine is tread,
For the cock which crows at the breaking dawn,
And the proud old “turk” of the farmer’s barn,
For the fish which swim in the babbling brooks,
For the game which hide in the shady nooks,—
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans’ banks—
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the sturdy oaks and the stately pines,
For the lead and the coal from the deep,
dark mines, For the silver ores of a thousand fold,
For the diamond bright and the yellow gold,
For the river boat and the flying train,
For the fleecy sail of the rolling main,
For the velvet sponge and the glossy pearl,
For the flag of peace which we now unfurl,—
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans’ banks,—
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the lowly cot and the mansion fair,
For the peace and plenty together share,
For the Hand which guides us from above,
For Thy tender mercies, abiding love,
For the blessed home with its children gay,
For returnings of Thanksgiving Day,
For the bearing toils and the sharing cares,
We lift up our hearts in our songs and our prayers,—
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans’ banks,—
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

“Summer Rain” by Charles Mackay

The mountain streams are silent,
Or whisper faint and low;
The earth is grateful for the dews,
For moisture which the clouds refuse.
Blow, west wind, blow,
And fall, O gentle rain!
Awake the music of the bowers,
Unfold the beauty ofthe flowers;
The cornfields long to hear thy voice,
And woods and orchards will rejoice
To see thee, gentle rain.

It comes! The gushing wealth descends.
Hark! how it patters on the leaves!
Hark! how it drips from cottage eaves!
The pastures and the clouds are friends;
Drop gently, gentle rain!
The fainting corn- stalk lifts its head,
The grass grows greener at thy tread,
The woods are musical again.
And from the hillside springing,
Down comes the torrent singing,
With grateful nature in accord,
A full-voiced anthem to the Lord,
To thank Him for the rain.

“Thanksgiving” by Kate Seymour Maclean

The Autumn hills are golden at the top,
And rounded as a poet’s silver rhyme;
The mellow days are ruby ripe, that drop
One after one into the lap of time.

Dead leaves are reddening in the woodland copse,
And forest boughs a fading glory wear;
No breath of wind stirs in their hazy tops,
Silence and peace are brooding everywhere.

The long day of the year is almost done,
And nature in the sunset musing stands,
Gray-robed, and violet-hooded like a nun,
Looking abroad o’er yellow harvest lands:

O’er tents of orchard boughs, and purple vines
With scarlet flecked, flung like broad banners out
Along the field paths where slow-pacing lines
Of meek-eyed kine obey the herdboy’s shout;

Where the tired ploughman his dun oxen turns,
Unyoked, afield, mid dewy grass to stray,
While over all the village church spire burns-
A shaft of flame in the last beams of day.

Empty and folded are her busy hands;
Her corn and wine and oil are safely stored,
As in the twilight of the year she stands,
And with her gladness seems to thank the Lord.

Thus let us rest awhile from toil and care,
In the sweet sabbath of this autumn calm,
And lift our hearts to heaven in grateful prayer,
And sing with nature our thanksgiving psalm.

a woman with long hair wearing a blue fluttering dress standing in the field facing the sunrise

“Thanksgiving Day” by Thomas Frederick Young

God of the harvest, once again
Our joyful tones we raise,
For all Thy goodness, day by day,
We give Thee thankful praise.

With blessings rich, from fertile field,
And gifts from fruitful tree,
We wish, this day, our thanks to yield
With earnest hearts, to Thee.

We plough’d the ground, we sow’d the seed,
But Thou didst send the rain
In grateful show’rs, in time of need,
And now we’ve reap’d the grain.

The sun with grateful heat did shine;
The dew did nightly fall;
And now, for loaded tree and vine –
We give Thee thanks for all.

The bee, in well-fill’d honey cells,
Her sweets for us hath stow’d,
The crystal water in the wells,
For us from springs hath flow’d.

The lowing herd, the prancing steed
Receiv’d we from Thy hand,
And we, this day, return our meed
Of praise, throughout the land.

Then let us sing with earnest hearts,
Tho’ joyful be each lay,
And thankful ev’ry song that starts
On this Thanksgiving Day.

“Gratitude” by Stephen Middleton

Tell me why, O tell me why,
Swell these tear-drops on mine eye,
While my heart, from sorrow free,
Beats with joyous extacy?

Tell me why, O tell me why,
Heaves my breast the unchecked sigh,
While within, no earthly care,
Much less pain is rankling there?

Listen! and I’ll tell thee why
Flow these tears, and whence that sigh;
Though my heart, from sorrow free,
Feels sublime felicity.

Gratitude bedims these eyes,
Gratitude impels these sighs,
Gratitude for blessings given,
Gratitude for hopes in heaven.

Unrequited, undeserved,
‘Bove the race of man preferr’d,
‘Bove surrounding thousands bless’d,
Gratitude excites my breast.

Gracious God, may tears arise,
Gracious God, accept my sighs,
Grateful tears for mercy’s store,
Sighs that I deserve no more.

Ever in our circle here,
May warm Gratitude appear,
‘Till our tongues, in realms above,
Hymn in loudest strains thy love.

From “Hymn For Sunday School” by Stephen Middleton

Holy and just, Almighty Lord,
To Thee our loudest hymn we raise;
Encouraged by Thy sacred Word,
To offer up our infant praise.

To thee we owe our every good,
Each cheering bliss of life and light,
Clothing and comforts, health and food,
Our peace by day, our rest at night.

We thank Thee for the gift supreme,
That we were born in Christian land;
Where saving grace may be our theme,
And we are taught our Lord’s command.

And O! we grateful bow to Thee,
For all our guardians here below;
For Thou with holy charity
Dost bid the generous bosom glow.

Grant that the seeds of heavenly truth,
Implanted in our early day,
May deck with bloom our opening youth;
In age, the richest fruits display.

a young woman in dress enjoying summer freedom, walking in flower meadow at sunset

“I Give Thanks” by Grace Fallow Norton

There’s one that I once loved so much
I am no more the same.
I give thanks for that transforming touch.
I tell you not his name.
He has become a sign to me
For flowers and for fire.
For song he is a sign to me
And for the broken lyre.
And I have known him in a book
And never touched his hand.
And he is dead—I need not look
For him through his green land.
Heaven may not be. I have no faith,
But this desire I have—
To take my soul on my last breath,
To lift it like a wave,
And surge unto his star and say,
His friendship had been heaven;
And pray, for clouds that closed his day
May light at last be given!
And say, he shone at noon so bright
I learned to run and rejoice!
And beg him for one last delight—
The true sound of his voice.
There’s one that once moved me so much
I am no more the same;
And I pray I too, I too, may touch
Some heart with singing flame.

From “Lament Of The Irish Emigrant” by Lady Dufferin

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on.
When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm’s young strength was gone;
There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow,—
I bless you, Mary, for that same,
Though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break,—
When the hunger-pain was gnawin’ there,
And you hid it for my sake;
I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore,—
O, I’m thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can’t reach you more!

“Written in London, on the 19th of March, 1796” by Matilda Betham

A lov’d companion, chosen friend,
Does at this hour depart,
Whom the dear name of father binds
Still closer to my heart.

On him may joy-dispensing heav’n
Each calm delight bestow,
And eas’d of peace-destroying care
His life serenely flow!

Did I but know his bosom calm,
And free from anxious fear,
Around me in more cheerful hues
Would every scene appear.

And I will hope that he, who ne’er
Repin’d at heav’n’s decree,
But ever patient and resign’d,
Submissive bent the knee:

Who, best of fathers, never sought
For arbitrary sway,
But free within each youthful mind,
Bade Reason lead the way.

Who taught us, ‘stead of servile fear,
A warm esteem to prove,
And bade each act of duty spring,
From gratitude and love.

Yes, I must hope that generous mind
With many cares opprest,
Shall in the winter of his days
With sweet repose be blest.

a violet dressed woman dancing on a field of flowers

“A Song of Thanksgiving” by Angela Morgan

Thank God I can rejoice
In human things—the multitude’s glad voice,
The street’s warm surge beneath the city light,
The rush of hurrying faces on my sight,
The million-celled emotion in the press
That would their human fellowship confess.
Thank Thee because I may my brother feed,
That Thou hast opened me unto his need,
Kept me from being callous, cold and blind,
Taught me the melody of being kind.
Thus, for my own and for my brother’s sake—
Thank Thee I am awake!

Thank Thee that I can trust!
That though a thousand times I feel the thrust
Of faith betrayed, I still have faith in man,
Believe him pure and good since time began—
Thy child forever, though he may forget
The perfect mould in which his soul was set.
Thank Thee that when love dies, fresh love springs up.
New wonders pour from Heaven’s cup.
Young to my soul the ancient need returns,
Immortal in my heart the ardor burns;
My altar fires replenished from above—
Thank Thee that I can love!

Thank Thee that I can hear,
Finely and keenly with the inner ear,
Below the rush and clamor of a throng
The mighty music of the under-song.
And when the day has journeyed to its rest,
Lo, as I listen, from the amber west,
Where the great organ lifts its glowing spires,
There sounds the chanting of the unseen choirs.
Thank Thee for sight that shows the hidden flame
Beneath all breathing, throbbing things the same,
Thy Pulse the pattern of the thing to be….
Thank Thee that I can see!

Thank Thee that I can feel!
That though life’s blade be terrible as steel,
My soul is stript and naked to the fang,
I crave the stab of beauty and the pang.
To be alive,
To think, to yearn, to strive,
To suffer torture when the goal is wrong,
To be sent back and fashioned strong
Rejoicing in the lesson that was taught
By all the good the grim experience wrought;
At last, exulting, to arrive….
Thank God I am alive!

“Fulfillment” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes.
All things to aid it—dew, sun, wind, fair skies—
Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil,
I fenced it safely in with grateful toil.
No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I,
And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh.
It grew for days; I stood hour after hour
To watch the slow unfolding of the flower,
And then I did not leave its side at all,
Lest some mischance my flower should befall.
At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart.
It blossomed—but, alas! a worm was at its heart!

“Song” by John Milton

Nymphs and shepherds, dance no more
By sandy Ladon’s lilied banks;
On old Lycæus or Cyllene hoar,
Trip no more in twilight ranks;
Though Erymanth your loss deplore,
A better soil shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Mænalus
Bring your flocks, and live with us;
Here ye shall have greater grace,
To serve the Lady of this place.
Though Syrinx your Pan’s mistress were,
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.
Such a rural Queen
All Arcadia hath not seen.

a young woman looking up at a shower of gold stars

From “National Hymn” by William Edgar Brown

God of our fathers, help us’ rise,
To our immortal destiny,
Prophetic voices of the skies,
Speak of the conquests yet to be,
We give Thee thanks for victories won,
We pray Thee still to lead us on.

“The Gift” by Knickerbocker

On blessed, blessed flowers! the hand
That sent ye hither, pure and fair,
Though it had swept through all the land
Could nothing home so lovely bear.

Most tender and most beautiful,
All fresh with dew, and rich with balm,
How from art’s garlands dim and dull
Ye bear the glory and the palm!

When thus your gathered crowns I see,
Young queens of nature undefiled!
Methinks your only throne should be
The bosom of a little child.

Yet breathe once more upon my sense;
Ah, take my kiss your leaves among!
Ye fill me with a bliss intense,
Ye stir my soul to humblest song.

And not alone ye solace bring,
Sweet blossoms! to my present hour;
In every fairy cup and ring
I find a spell of memory’s power.

In every odorous breath I feel
That thus, in other spring-times gay,
The lips of flowers did all unseal,
To whisper gladness round my way.

And there were friends with loving eyes,
And cheerful step, and words of mirth,
And there was heaven with smiling skies,
That bade us look beyond the earth.

Therefore my gentlest thanks I sing
To her who sent these tender flowers;
Theyto my present, solace bring,
And to my memory, vanished hours.

Inspirational Poems On Gratitude

a young girl with a curly brown hair is holding a jar with a lit candle

We invite you to embark on a journey to a world of poetic inspiration where gratitude takes center stage.

These inspirational verses serve as a gentle reminder that even in life’s most challenging moments, there are countless reasons to be grateful and find joy.

Let’s go!

a woman in a white dress sitting in a magical forest reading a book

“Thankfulness” by Unknown

Whene’er I take my walks abroad
How many poor I see:
What shall I render to my God
For all His gifts to me?

No more than others I deserve,
Yet God has given me more;
For I have food while others starve,
Or beg from door to door.

How many children in the street
Half-naked I behold;
While I am clothed from head to foot,
And covered from the cold.

While some poor wretches scarce can tell
Where they may lay their head,
I have a home wherein to dwell,
And rest upon my bed.

While others early learn to swear,
And curse, and lie, and steal,
Lord! I am taught Thy Name to fear,
And do Thy holy will.

Are these Thy favours day by day,
To me above the rest?
Then let me love Thee more than they,
And strive to serve Thee best.

“Thank God For Little Children” by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Thank God for little children,
Bright flowers by earth’s wayside,
The dancing, joyous lifeboats
Upon life’s stormy tide.

Thank God for little children;
When our skies are cold and gray,
They come as sunshine to our hearts,
And charm our cares away.

I almost think the angels,
Who tend life’s garden fair,
Drop down the sweet wild blossoms
That bloom around us here.

It seems a breath of heaven
Round many a cradle lies,
And every little baby
Brings a message from the skies.

Dear mothers, guard these jewels.
As sacred offerings meet,
A wealth of household treasures
To lay at Jesus’ feet.

“National Monuments” by Henry van Dyke

Count not the cost of honour to the dead!
The tribute that a mighty nation pays
To those who loved her well in former days
Means more than gratitude for glories fled;
For every noble man that she hath bred,
Lives in the bronze and marble that we raise,
Immortalised by art’s immortal praise,
To lead our sons as he our fathers led.

These monuments of manhood strong and high
Do more than forts or battle-ships to keep
Our dear-bought liberty. They fortify
The heart of youth with valour wise and deep;
They build eternal bulwarks, and command
Immortal hosts to guard our native land.

a woman walking through a field of poppy flowers

“The Thank Offering” by George MacDonald

My little child receives my gift,
A simple piece of bread;
But to her mouth she doth not lift
The love in bread conveyed,
Till on my lips, unerring, swift,
The morsel first is laid.

This is her grace before her food,
This her libation poured;
Uplift, like offering Aaron good
Heaved up unto the Lord;
More riches in the thanks than could
A thousand gifts afford!

My Father, every gift of thine,
Teach me to lift to Thee;
Not else know I the love divine,
With which it comes to me;
Not else the tenfold gift is mine
Of taking thankfully.

Yea, all my being I would lift,
An offering of me;
Then only truly mine the gift,
When so received by Thee;
Then shall I go, rejoicing, swift,
Through thine Eternity.

“Stars And The Soul” by Henry Van Dyke

“Two things,” the wise man said, “fill me with awe:
The starry heavens and the moral law.”
Nay, add another wonder to thy roll,—
The living marvel of the human soul!

Born in the dust and cradled in the dark,
It feels the fire of an immortal spark,
And learns to read, with patient, searching eyes,
The splendid secret of the unconscious skies.

For God thought Light before He spoke the word;
The darkness understood not, though it heard:
But man looks up to where the planets swim,
And thinks God’s thoughts of glory after Him.

What knows the star that guides the sailor’s way,
Or lights the lover’s bower with liquid ray,
Of toil and passion, danger and distress,
Brave hope, true love, and utter faithfulness?

But human hearts that suffer good and ill,
And hold to virtue with a loyal will,
Adorn the law that rules our mortal strife
With star-surpassing victories of life.

So take our thanks, dear reader of the skies,
Devout astronomer, most humbly wise,
For lessons brighter than the stars can give,
And inward light that helps us all to live.

“Thank God For Peace!” by William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

Thank God for Peace!
Up to the sombre sky
Rolled one great thankful sigh,
Rolled one great gladsome cry–
The soul’s deliverance of a mighty people.
Thank God for Peace!

The long-low-hanging war-cloud rolled away,
And night glowed brighter than the brightest day.
For Peace is Light,
And War is grimmer than the Night.

Thank God for Peace!
Great ocean, was your mighty calm unstirred
As through your depths, unseen, unheard,
Sped on its way the glorious word
That called a weary nation to ungird,
And sheathed once more the keen, reluctant sword?

Thank God for Peace!
The word came to us as we knelt in prayer
That wars might cease.
Peace found us on our knees, and prayer for Peace
Was changed to prayer of deepest thankfulness.
We knelt in War, we rose in Peace to bless
Thy grace, Thy care, Thy tenderness.

Thank God for Peace!
No matter now the rights and wrongs of it;
You fought us bravely, and we fought you fair.
The fight is done. Grip hands! No malice bear!
We greet you, brothers, to the nobler strife
Of building up the newer, larger life!

Join hands! Join hands! Ye nations of the stock!
And make henceforth a mighty Trust for Peace.
A great enduring peace that shall withstand
The shocks of time and circumstance; and every land
Shall rise and bless you–and shall never cease
To bless you–for that glorious gift of Peace.

a woman in the forest looking at the fluttering bird near her face

“Thanksgiving” by Hanford Lennox Gordon

Father, our thanks are due to thee
For many a blessing given,
By thy paternal love and care,
From the bounty-horn of heaven.

We know that still that horn is filled
With blessings for our race,
And we calmly look thro’ winter’s storm
To thy benignant face.

Father, we raise our thanks to Thee,-
Who seldom thanked before;
And seldom bent the stubborn knee
Thy goodness to adore:

But Father, thou hast blessings poured
On all our wayward days
And now thy mercies manifold
Have filled our hearts with praise

The winter-storm may rack and roar;
We do not fear its blast;
And we’ll bear with faith and fortitude
The lot that thou hast cast.

But Father,-Father,-O look down
On the poor and homeless head
And feed the hungry thousands
That cry to thee for bread.

Thou givest us our daily bread;
We would not ask for more;
But, Father, give their daily bread
To the multitudes of poor.

In all the cities of the land
The naked and hungry are;
O feed them with thy manna, Lord,
And clothe them with thy care.

Thou dost not give a serpent, Lord,
We will not give a stone;
For the bread and meat thou givest us
Are not for us alone.

And while a loaf is given to us
From thy all-bounteous horn
We’ll cheerfully divide that loaf
With the hungry and forlorn.

“Gratitude” by Julia Tilt

Written for Her Royal Highness
The Duchess of Gloucester’s Birthday,

Had I a pen inspired from heaven above,
From heaven, whose every attribute is love;
Had I one feeling, purer than the rest,
Or could find words, more magic or more blest;
Then, royal lady, then I fain would tell
The gratitude my heart but feels too well.

Yes, unto thee, my grateful strains I’d raise,
And humbly sing thy virtues and thy praise;
The virtues of a kind and feeling heart,
That to the poorest could a balm impart;
A balm that springs not from thy station high,
But takes its root in worth that cannot die.

And as the pleasant years come round again,
And balmy spring sends forth her flowery train,
And spreads her treasures o’er the teeming earth,
As if in honour to thine hour of birth;
Blest hour! that saw thee leave thy native skies,
To hear the suppliants ‘ prayer and hush their sighs.

And such on earth has been thy lov’d career,
Born to do good to all within thy sphere.
Say, royal lady, can I here below
Wish thee more joy than from thy virtues flow?
No; for a feeling heart no price can buy,
It’s prized on earth, it’s registered on high.

“A Song Of Gifts To God” by G.K. Chesterton

When the first Christmas presents came, the straw where Christ was rolled
Smelt sweeter than their frankincense, burnt brighter than their gold,
And a wise man said, “We will not give; the thanks would be but cold.”

“Nay,” said the next, “To all new gifts, to this gift or another,
Bends the high gratitude of God; even as He now, my brother,
Who had a Father for all time, yet thanks Him for a Mother.

“Yet scarce for Him this yellow stone or prickly-smells and sparse.
Who holds the gold heart of the sun that fed these timber bars,
Nor any scentless lily lives for One that smells the stars.”

Then spake the third of the Wise Men; the wisest of the three:
“We may not with the widest lives enlarge His liberty,
Whose wings are wider than the world. It is not He, but we.

“We say not He has more to gain, but we have more to lose.
Less gold shall go astray, we say, less gold, if thus we choose,
Go to make harlots of the Greeks and hucksters of the Jews.

“Less clouds before colossal feet redden in the under-light,
To the blind gods from Babylon less incense burn to-night,
To the high beasts of Babylon, whose mouths make mock of right.”

Babe of the thousand birthdays, we that are young yet grey,
White with the centuries, still can find no better thing to say,
We that with sects and whims and wars have wasted Christmas Day.

Light Thou Thy censer to Thyself, for all our fires are dim,
Stamp Thou Thine image on our coin, for Caesar’s face grows dim,
And a dumb devil of pride and greed has taken hold of him.

We bring Thee back great Christendom, churches and towns and towers.
And if our hands are glad, O God, to cast them down like flowers,
‘Tis not that they enrich Thine hands, but they are saved from ours.

a pretty red head in a sunlit meadow, surrounded by fluttering butterflies

From “In Memory Of Mr. Agostino Isola O Cambridge”
by Matilda Betham

Awake, O Gratitude! nor let the tears
Of selfish Sorrow smother up thy voice,
When it should speak of a departed friend.
A tender friend, the first I ever lost!
For Destiny till now was merciful,
And though I oft have felt a transient pang,
For worth unknown, and wept awhile for those,
Whom long acquaintance only made me love,
No keen regret laid pining at my heart,
Nor Memory in the solitary hour,
Would sting with grief, as when she speaks
Thy virtue, knowledge, wisdom, gentleness,
Thy venerable age, and says that I
Had once the happiness to call thee friend.

“A Thanksgiving For His House” by Robert Herrick

Lord, thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather proof;
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry.
Where Thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by the poor,
Who hither come, and freely get
Good words or ment.
Like as my parlour, so my hall,
And kitchen small;
A little buttery, and therein
A little bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier,
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits that be
There placed by Thee.
The worts, the purslain, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of thy kindness thou hast sent:
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
‘Tis thou that crown’st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth;
And giv’st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, ‘ tis thy plenty-dropping hand
That sows my land:
All this, and better, dost thou send
Me, for this end:
That I should render for my part,
A thankful heart,
Which fired with incense, I resign
As wholly thine:
But the acceptance-that must be,
O Lord, by thee.

“Essentials” by St. Clair Adams

Roll up your sleeves, lad, and begin;
Disarm misfortune with a grin;
Let discontent not wag your chin—
Let gratitude.

Don’t try to find things all askew;
Don’t be afraid of what is new;
Nor banish as unsound, untrue,
A platitude.

If folks don’t act as you would choose
Remember life is varied; use
Your common sense; don’t get the blues;
Show latitude.

Sing though in quavering sharps and flats,
Love though the folk you love are cats,
Work though you’re worn and weary—that’s
The attitude.

a young lady in a sunlit meadow, surrounded by fluttering butterflies.

“Reflection” by Matilda Betham

Why should we think the years of life
Will pass serenely by,
When, for a day, the Sun himself
Ne’er sees a cloudless sky!

And, unassuming as she moves,
The meek-eyed Queen of night,
Meets wand’ring vapours in her path
To dim her paler light!

Then why should we in vain repine
At man’s uncertain lot,
That cares will equally assail
The palace and the cot?

For Heaven ordains this chequer’d scene
Our mortal pow’rs t’ employ;
That we might know, compare, select,
Be grateful, and enjoy.

“A Thanksgiving Poem” by William Edgar Brown

When the golden corn is garnered,
And the harvest work is done,
When forests wave their blood red flags
To autumn’s mellow sun,
When cellars groan with luscious fruit,
And huntsmen sound the horn,
Dost thou believe O hoary sage,
“That man was made to mourn?”

When “the melancholy days have come,
The saddest of the year”,
When the hazy Indian summer light,
Floods all the atmosphere,
When the bee has stored her honey,
And the squirrel has reaped his corn,
Then let not this disturb thy breast,
“That man was made to mourn.”

When earth’s glorious panorama,
“Awakes the living lyre”,
And the poet’s heart is “pregnant” ,
With that celestial fire,
When the sunset skies are crimson,
And the frosts our fields adorn,
‘Tis man’s unkindness to himself,
That often makes him mourn.

When the brooklet sings ‘ her sweetest song
To the willows nodding near,
When the forest leaves are rustled by
The ‘ bounding of the deer,
When the busy squirrel stores his nuts,
Nor ‘fears December’s storm, ‘
This partial view is not the best,
“That man was made to mourn ?”

“When banners glorious, golden,
O’er the woodlands ‘ float and flow,”
As streamed they from the castles gray,
“In times of long ago:”
When hickory logs burn’brightly
In the fireplace wide and warm,
Do merry voices then proclaim ,
“That man was’ made to mourn?”

When the wood is in the forest,
And the gold is in the mine,
When the grain has all been garnered,
And the grapes have turned to wine,
When the bee has stored her honey,
And the squirrel ‘ has reaped his corn ;
‘Tis man’s unkindness to his kind
That makes the millions mourn.”

“The grand old masters” have their joy
Likewise the “bards sublime,”
‘Tis true their “”Footsteps echo through
The corridors of Time,”
But each should have a thankful heart,
“For man had ne’er been born”
Had there not been more joy than pain ,
To comfort those that mourn.