Religious Reflections On Winter: The Creator To Be Praised For All Things Poem by Mary Botham Howitt

'Tis night! Oh, now come forth to gaze
Upon the heavens, intense and bright!
Look on yon myriad worlds, and say,
Though beauty dwelleth with the day,
Is not God manifest by night?

Thou that createdst all! Thou Fountain
Of our sun's light - who dwellest far
From man, beyond the farthest star,
Yet ever present; who dost heed
Our spirits in their human need,
We bless Thee, Father, that we
are!


We bless Thee for our inward life;
For its immortal date decreeing;
For that which comprehendeth Thee,
A spark of Thy divinity,
Which is the being of our being.

We bless Thee for this bounteous earth;
For its increase - for corn and wine;
For forest oaks, for mountain rills,
For 'cattle on a thousand hills;'
We bless Thee - for all good is Thine.

The earth is Thine, and it Thou keepest,
That man may labour not in vain;
Seed-time and harvest come from Thee;
The early and the latter rain.

The earth is Thine - the summer earth;
Fresh with the dews, with sunshine bright;
With golden clouds in evening hours,
With singing birds and balmy flowers,
Creatures of beauty and delight.

The earth is Thine - the teeming earth;
In the rich, bounteous time of seed,
When man goes forth in joy to reap,
And gathers up his garnered heap
Against the time of storm and need.

The earth is Thine - when days are dim,
And leafless stands the stately tree;
When from the north the fierce winds blow
When falleth fast the mantling snow;
The earth pertaineth still to Thee.

The earth is Thine - Thy creature, man!
Thine are the worlds, all suns that shine;
Darkness and light, and life and death;
Whate'er all space inhabiteth;
Creator! Father! all are Thine.