NOW gracious plenty rules the board,
⁠And in the purse is gold;
By multitudes in glad accord
⁠Thy giving is extolled.
Ah, suffer me to thank Thee, Lord,
⁠For what thou dost withhold!

I thank Thee that howe'er we climb
⁠There yet is something higher;
That though through all our reach of time
⁠We to the stars aspire,
Still, still beyond us burns sublime
⁠The pure sidereal fire!

I thank Thee for the unexplained,
⁠The hope that lies before,
The victory that is not gained,—
⁠O Father, more and more
I thank Thee for the unattained,
⁠The good we hunger for!

​I thank Thee for the voice that sings
⁠To inner depths of being;
For all the spread and sweep of wings,
⁠From earthly bondage freeing;
For mystery—the dream of things
⁠Beyond our power of seeing!