Thanksgiving Poem
                                                                                                                          By         Robert Herrick                   Lord, Thou hast given me a cell            Wherein to dwell,   A little house, whose humble roof            Is weather-proof:   Under the spars of which I lie            Both soft, and dry;   Where Thou my chamber for to ward            Hast set a guard   Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep            Me, while I sleep.   Low is my porch, as is my fate,            Both void of state;   And yet the threshold of my door            Is worn by th' poor,   Who thither come and freely get       ...