THANKSGIVING.
O men, grown sick with toil and care,
Leave for awhile the crowded mart;
'O women, sinking with despair,
Weary of limb and faint of heart,
Forget your years today and come
As children back to childhood's home.
Follow again the winding rills.
Go to the places where you went
When, climbing up the summer hills,
In their green laps you sat content,
And softly leaned your head to rest
On Nature's calm and peaceful breast.
Walk through the sere and fading wood,
So slightly trodden by your feet,
When all you knew of life was good.
And all you dreamed of life was sweet,
And ever fondly looking back
O'er youthful love's enchanted track.
Taste the ripe fruits from the orchard boughs,
Drink from the mossy well once more,
Breathe fragrance from the crowded mows
With fresh, sweet clover running o'er.
And count the treasures at your feet.
Of silver rye and golden wheat.
Go sit beside the hearth again.
Whose circle once was glad and gay;
And if, from out the precious chain.
Some shining links have dropped away,
Then guard with tender heart and hand
The remnant of thy household band.
Draw near the board with plenty spread.
And if, in the accustomed place.
You see the father's reverend head.
Or mother's patient, loving face,
Whate'er your life may have of ill,
Thank God that these are left you still.
And though where home has been you stand
Today in alien loneliness;
Though you may clasp no brother's hand,
And claim no sister's tender kiss;
Though with no friend nor lover nigh.
The past is all your company.
Thank God for friends your life has known,
For every dear, departed day;
The blessed past is safe alone—
God gives, but does not take away;
He only safely keeps above
For us the treasures that we love.
