Читать книгу A Hidden Life and Other Poems - George MacDonald - Страница 3

Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care,

Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude

Late waked for early gifts ill understood;

Claiming in all my harvests rightful share,

Whether with song that mounts the joyful air

I praise my God; or, in yet deeper mood,

Sit dumb because I know a speechless good,

Needing no voice, but all the soul for prayer.

Thou hast been faithful to my highest need;

And I, thy debtor, ever, evermore,

Shall never feel the grateful burden sore.

Yet most I thank thee, not for any deed,

But for the sense thy living self did breed

That fatherhood is at the great world's core.