Text: Unknown (ed. Killis Campbell), “Gratitude,” The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, Ginn and Company, 1917, p. 145

As turns the eye to bless the hand that led its infant years,

As list’ning still for that sweet voice which every tone endears,

So I to thee, through mental power, would each remembrance trace,

And bless the hand that led me on to fonts of lasting grace.

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As sailor on the billowy deep hath seen some light afar,

And shunned the rock that lies between his pathway and the star,

So hast thou been o’er stormy wave to me, 'mid sorrow's night,

A beacon true whose glory spreads afar its rays of light.

As flow sweet sounds of melody from strings drawn out by skill,

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As roll its wavelets o’er the soul and all its chambers fill,

So came the words of holy truth endued with wisdom's zeal,

So fell their impress on my heart and stamped it with their seal.

 

As runs the rivulet its course and swifter as it flows,

Still murmuring of the hidden depths where first its waters rose,

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So evermore as life glides on expanding far and wide,

Will turn the heart to where at first was ope’d its holiest tide.

As pours the captive bird its song to him who sets it free,

So flows my breath in song of praise in gratitude to thee.

As o’er the earth the sun reflects its rays of living light,

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So thou by thy pure rays of thought art power to mental sight.