Not a Psalm 1

How do I praise you father?
How do I speak my gratitude?
I cannot return your grace.

You whisper to me in the quiet hours each morning,
before the first diamond of light sparkles on distant peaks.

You walk with me through the forest,
where tears of rain touch the fingertips of tall trees.

You give me strength to climb the mountain,
where I gaze far and marvel at the miracle of your creation.

You stand beside me by the ocean
where I feel your power in waves that crash against the reef;
I feel your love,
as those towering waves become soft blankets covering my toes.

Father, you sit beside me in the late of day.
As I watch the sun bleed her life across the sky,
I recall the blood you shed for me,
and your promise of a new day.

How do I praise you father? How do I speak my gratitude?
All that I have, all that I am or ever will be, all that is good is from you, Lord.
I cannot return your grace.