Thy grace, O Lord, is multiplied
In daily things of life,
But nowhere more abundantly
Than in my precious wife.
Some men are strong enough to live
In single-minded grace,
At home in crowd or hermit's cell,
Without a helpmeet's strength.
But I, oh I, am no such one,
So failing and so frail,
I need the presence of a friend
To walk this lonely trail.
A list'ning ear when I must speak,
A voice to answer me,
Telling truths that I must know,
But, alone, cannot see.
She laughs with all my silly thoughts,
Attends those worthy, all,
And even feigns an interest in
My birds and basketball.
She raises up our little ones,
Barbarians though they be,
And she, though tried and tested fierce,
Loves perseveringly.
If I alone were raising them,
Then they'd have missed so much:
Easter eggs and finger paints,
A mother's gentle touch.
Apart from her I too would be
Much less than I am now;
Less ready to trust a beaming smile;
With many doubts endowed.
And with her love I'm more inclined
Not just to think things through;
But dare to dance with faith again,
To sing, to run, to do.
For endless grace I give Thee praise,
Thou Lord of all my life,
And every day I thank you for
The blessing of my wife.
