Considering all from Heaven I receive,
The host of blessings in my life’s design
My country–proud I am to call it mine–
Where men may think and talk as they believe;
Our cheerful home with honeysuckled eave,
Where laughter reigns in evening as we dine;
The woods in May: each fur-tipped bud a shrine;
And fields of June; and snow on Christmas eve,
I realize that many things, both sad and gay
Have slowly built, down through the years for me
A lifetime, layer new succeeding layer.
And if as time rolls on I fail to say,
“For things I have, O Father, thanks to Thee”,
I never really find my God in prayer.
by Ray Romine Sunday, May 16, 1943
