Thanksgiving

When all thy mercies, O my God,

my rising soul surveys,

transported with the view, I'm lost

in wonder, love, and praise.

Unnumbered comforts to my soul

thy tender care bestowed,

before my infant heart conceived

from whom those comforts flowed.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

my daily thanks employ;

nor is the least a cheerful heart

that tastes those gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life

thy goodness I'll pursue;

and after death, in distant worlds

the glorious theme renew.

Through all eternity to thee

a joyful song I'll raise;

for O, eternity's too short

to utter all thy praise! Amen.

Joseph Addison, 1672-1719