THANK GOD

WHEN Baby settles in his place,
With folded hands he says his grace—
Thank God!

The porridge has no time to cool.
Dad calls it brief and beautiful—
Thank God!

For father, kinder ev’ry year,
For mother hasting to be near,
Thank God!

For Baby Timothy so sweet,
For flowers to pick, for bread to eat,
Thank God!

There really is not more to say
Than this by night as well as day—
Thank God!