The Gifts Of God

THE LIGHT that fills thy house at morn, Thou canst not for thyself retain; But all who with thee here are born, It bids to share an equal gain. The wind that blows thy ship along, Her swelling sails cannot confine; Alike to all the gales belong, Nor canst thou claim a breath as thine. The earth, the green out-spreading earth, Why hast thou fenced it off from me? Hadst thou than I a nobler birth, Who callest thine a gift so free? The wave, the blue encircling wave, No chains can bind, no fetters hold; Its thunders tell of Him who gave What none can ever buy for gold.