Lord God, I turn on this Thanksgiving Day,
To view the path o'er which I've made my way,
Although a path of thorns my eye may greet,
Although I feel the sting still in my feet;

Although the harvest fail my barn to fill,
With grateful heart I bow and thank Thee still.
For I am sure what e'er has been my lot,
How meek, how poor is more than I deserve.

Unto Thy will I bow and murmur not.
I'll not condemn His justice¡ªwhom I serve.
I'll not complain and call Thee, Father, stern.
Because Thy sacred plans I've failed to learn;

The cause of all this grief I cannot tell,
And yet, like Job of old, I'll not rebel.
Lord God, I turn on this ¡û Thanksgiving Day,
To view the path o'er which I made my way.
Although a path of thorns my eye may greet,
Although I feel the sting still in my feet,
Although the harvest fail my barn to fill,
With grateful heart I bow and thank Thee still.