Thanksgiving, A Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Thanksgiving

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    We walk on starry fields of white

        And do not see the daisies;

    For blessings common in our sight

        We rarely offer praises.

    We sigh for some supreme delight

        To crown our lives with splendor,

    And quite ignore our daily store

        Of pleasures sweet and tender.

    Our cares are bold and push their way

        Upon our thought and feeling.

    They hang about us all the day,

        Our time from pleasure stealing.

    So unobtrusive many a joy

        We pass by and forget it,

    But worry strives to own our lives

        And conquers if we let it.

    There's not a day in all the year

        But holds some hidden pleasure,

    And looking back, joys oft appear

        To brim the past's wide measure.

    But blessings are like friends, I hold,

        Who love and labor near us.

    We ought to raise our notes of praise

        While living hearts can hear us.

    Full many a blessing wears the guise

        Of worry or of trouble.

    Farseeing is the soul and wise

        Who knows the mask is double.

    But he who has the faith and strength

        To thank his God for sorrow

    Has found a joy without alloy

        To gladden every morrow.

    We ought to make the moments notes

        Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;

    The hours and days a silent phrase

        Of music we are living.

    And so the theme should swell and grow

        As weeks and months pass o'er us,

    And rise sublime at this good time,

        A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

This poem is found in public domain. 

Find something today, regardless of how small you may think it is and give thanks. Simple gratitude goes a long way.