I am quite sure he thinks that I am God —
Since he is God, on whom each one depends
For life, and all things that His bounty sends —
My dear old dog, most constant of all friends;
Not quick to mind, but quicker far than I
To Him, whom God I know and own. His eye,
Deep brown and liquid — watches for my nod.
He is more patient beneath the rod,
Than I, when God His wise corrections sends.

He looks love at me, deep as words e'er spake;
And from me never crumb nor sup will take,
But he wags thanks with his most vocal tail.
And when some crashing noise wakes all his fear,
He is content and quiet, if I am near —
Secure that my protection will prevail.
So, faithful, mindful, thankful, trustful, he
Tells me what I unto my God should be.