Thine Are All the Gifts, O God

Thine are all the gifts

O God

Thine the brok­en bread;

Let the nak­ed feet be shod

And the starv­ing fed.

Let Thy child­ren

by Thy grace

Give as they abound

Till the poor have breath­ing-space

And the lost are found.

Wiser than the mis­er’s hoards

Is the giv­er’s choice;

Sweeter than the song of birds

Is the thank­ful voice;

Welcome smiles on fac­es sad

As the flow­ers of spring:

Let the ten­der hearts be glad

With the joy they bring.

Happier for their pi­ty’s sake

Make their sports and plays

And from the lips of child­hood take

Thy per­fect­ed praise.