- Published on
Thanksgiving
My heart gives thanks for many things;
For strength to labor day by day,
For sleep that comes when darkness wings
With evening up the eastern way.
I give deep thanks that I’m at peace
With kith and kin and neighbors, too -
Dear Lord, for all last year’s increase,
That helped me strive and hope and do.
My heart gives thanks for many things;
I know not how to name them all.
My soul is free from frets and stings,
My mind from creed and doctrine’s thrall*.
For Sun and stars, for flowers and streams,
For work and hope and rest and play -
For empty moments given to dreams,
For these my heart gives thanks to-day.
by William Stanley Braithwaite
*thrall: the state of being in someone's power or having great power over someone.
My heart gives thanks for many things;
For strength to labor day by day,
For sleep that comes when darkness wings
With evening up the eastern way.
I give deep thanks that I’m at peace
With kith and kin and neighbors, too -
Dear Lord, for all last year’s increase,
That helped me strive and hope and do.
My heart gives thanks for many things;
I know not how to name them all.
My soul is free from frets and stings,
My mind from creed and doctrine’s thrall*.
For Sun and stars, for flowers and streams,
For work and hope and rest and play -
For empty moments given to dreams,
For these my heart gives thanks to-day.
by William Stanley Braithwaite
*thrall: the state of being in someone's power or having great power over someone.
- Published on
Thanksgiving Day
There’s a sound of merry laughter
Pealing out from down the lane,
And the bells on horse’s bridles
Make a happy noise again.
The turkey’s in the oven,
Roasting to a golden brown;
The table’s fixed so ten or twelve
Or more can sit around.
The pumpkin and the mincemeat pies
Cool temptingly nearby;
The house smells spicy and fragrant-sweet
From flaky, fresh-baked pie.
The noise is growing louder,
There’s loud stomping now of feet!
The door swings wide and voices shout,
“Hi, folks! We’re starved! When do we eat?”
Silence fills the dear old house,
Each member bows his head
As Father thanks the Lord above
For such a bounteous spread.
Then the sound of merry laughter
Fills the house with joy and play . . .
Oh, it’s grand to be with those you love
And share Thanksgiving Day.
by Mrs. Paul E. King
There’s a sound of merry laughter
Pealing out from down the lane,
And the bells on horse’s bridles
Make a happy noise again.
The turkey’s in the oven,
Roasting to a golden brown;
The table’s fixed so ten or twelve
Or more can sit around.
The pumpkin and the mincemeat pies
Cool temptingly nearby;
The house smells spicy and fragrant-sweet
From flaky, fresh-baked pie.
The noise is growing louder,
There’s loud stomping now of feet!
The door swings wide and voices shout,
“Hi, folks! We’re starved! When do we eat?”
Silence fills the dear old house,
Each member bows his head
As Father thanks the Lord above
For such a bounteous spread.
Then the sound of merry laughter
Fills the house with joy and play . . .
Oh, it’s grand to be with those you love
And share Thanksgiving Day.
by Mrs. Paul E. King
