Page 41 - Poetry-Country

A Thanksgiving Song

Come, uncles and cousins, nieces and aunts;
Come nephews and brothers—no won’ts and no can’ts;
Put business, and shopping, and school-books away;
The year has rolled round—it is Thanksgiving-day.
Come home from the college, ye ringlet-haired youth.
Come home from your factories, Ann, Kate, and Ruth.
From the anvil, the counter, the farm, come away;
Home, home with you all—it is Thanksgiving-day.
The table is spread, and the dinner is dressed;
The cooks and the mothers have all done their best;
No Caliph of Baghdad e’er saw such display,
Or dreamed of a treat like our Thanksgiving-day.

Pies, puddings, and custards; pigs, oysters, and nuts—
Come forward and seize them, without ifs and buts;
Bring none of your slim little appetites here;
Thanksgiving-day comes only once in a year.

Thrice welcome the day in its annual round!
What treasures of love in its bosom are found!
America’s high holiday, ancient and dear, —
‘Twould be twice as welcome, if twice in a year.
Now children revisit the darling old place,
And brother and sister, long parted, embrace;
The family circle’s united once more,
And the same voices shout at the old cottage door.
The grandfather smiles on the innocent mirth,
And blesses the Power that has guarded his hearth;
He remembers no trouble, he feels no decay,
But thinks his whole life has been Thanksgiving-day.
Then praise for the past and the present we sing,
And, trustful, await what the future may bring;
Let doubt and repining be banished away,
And the whole of our lives be a Thanksgiving-day.

—([Philadelphia] Agricultural Almanack, 1895)

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