Chapter VIII: On Thanks

I cANNoT find words to give thanks to the Friend !For to suitably thank Him, I do not pretend.Ev'ry hair on my body's a gift from Him, free ;How can I give thanks for each hair that may be?All praise to the bountiful Maker, I sing !Who caused, out of nothing, His servant to spring!Who with power to praise His great kindness is graced?For His praises are all in His splendour embraced !The Creator who fashioned from clay all mankind,Gives spirit and wisdom and reason and mind ;From the loins of your father as far as the grave,See what presents He from the Unseen to you gave !Since clean He created you, wise and pure stay !For a shame it would be to return foul to clay !Incessantly wipe from a mirror the dust ;For it takes not a polish when eaten by rust!Were you not liquid semen when first you began?From your head cast conceit, if you claim to be man !When you earn by your labour your daily supply,On the strength of your arm do not, therefore, rely!The Lord, oh self-server ! why do you not see?Who can bring into motion your hand, except He?When good by your energy comes into view,To the favour of God, not your efforts, 'tis due.No person has carried the ball off by force;Give thanks unto God! of all favour the source.On foot, you are pow'rless to stand up alone ;Invisible aid ev'ry moment is shown.Was your tongue not from speaking in infancy tied?Through the navel your inside with food was supplied;When they stopped the supply and divided the string,To the breast of the mother your hand had to cling.To a stranger afflicted with sickness by time,They give water to cure from his own native clime.Hence the babe in the belly got nourishment good,And obtained, through the tube of the stomach, his food.The mother's two breasts which to-day he adores,Are likewise two fountains from God's endless stores.A Heav'n are a good mother's bosom and lap ;In the bosom a fountain of milk is the pap.Her life-rearing stature resembles a tree,And the son a choice fruit on her breast, you can see.Do the veins of the nipples not reach to the heart?Of the heart's blood, observe how the milk is a part!His teeth in her blood, like a lancet, he sunk ;Him, the Lord made her love, who her life's blood had drunk.When his arm becomes strong and his teeth stout appear,On her nipples the nurse bitter aloes must smear.To this aloes and milk he is so disinclined,That desire for the sweet nipple fades from his mind.Oh you, too, a penitent child of the way !By Patience your sins in oblivion you lay.