Like others, I'm grateful for plenty to eat; I'm fond of a plateful of
rich turkey meat. For pies in the cupboard, and coal in the bin, for
tires that are rubbered, and motors that spin; for all of my treasures,
for all that I earn, for comforts and pleasures, my thanks I return.
I'm glad that the nation is greasy and rich, acquiring high station
with nary a hitch; her barns are a-bursting with mountains of grain;
her people are thirsting for glory and gain. She'll ne'er backward
linger, this land of our dads, for she is a dinger at nailing the
scads. I'm glad that our vessels bring cargoes across, while counting
rooms wrestle with profit and loss; that men know the beauties of
figures and dates, and tariffs and duties and railway rebates.
I'm glad there are dreamers not industry-drunk, surrounded by schemers
whose god is the plunk. I'm glad we've remaining incompetent jays, not
always a-straining, in four hundred ways, to run down and collar one
big rouble more, to add to the dollar they nailed just before. I'm
glad there are writers more proud of their screeds than board of trade
fighters of options and deeds. I'm glad there are preachers who tell
of a shore where wealth-weary creatures need scheme never more.
For books that were written by masters of thought; for harps that were
smitten with Homeric swat; for canvases painted by monarchs of art; for
all things untainted by tricks of the mart; for hearts that are kindly,
with virtue and peace, and not seeking blindly a hoard to increase; for
those who are grieving o'er life's sordid plan; for souls still
believing in heaven and man; for homes that are lowly with love at the
board; for things that are holy, I thank thee, O Lord!