Thanksgiving
Thankful for the glory of the old Red, White
and Blue,
For the spirit of America that still is staunch
and true,
For the laughter of our children and the sunlight
in their eyes,
And the joy of radiant mothers and their evening
lullabies;
And thankful that our harvests wear no taint
of blood to-day,
But were sown and reaped by toilers who were
light of heart and gay.
Thankful for the riches that are ours to claim
and keep,
The joy of honest labor and the boon of happy
sleep,
For each little family circle where there is no
empty chair
Save where God has sent the sorrow for the
loving hearts to bear;
And thankful for the loyal souls and brave
hearts of the past
Who builded that contentment should be with
us to the last.
Thankful for the plenty that our peaceful land
has blessed,
For the rising sun that beckons every man to
do his best,
For the goal that lies before him and the promise
when he sows
That his hand shall reap the harvest, undisturbed
by cruel foes;
For the flaming torch of justice, symbolizing
as it burns:
Here none may rob the toiler of the prize he
fairly earns.
To-day our thanks we’re giving for the riches
that are ours,
For the red fruits of the orchards and the
perfume of the flowers,
For our homes with laughter ringing and our
hearthfires blazing bright,
For our land of peace and plenty and our land
of truth and right;
And we’re thankful for the glory of the old
Red, White and Blue,
For the spirit of our fathers and a manhood
that is true.
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