Thanksgivings of Old.
E. A. Smuller.
Oh, the glorious Thanksgivings
Of the days that are no more!
How, with each recurring season,
Wakes their mem’ry o’er and o’er!
When the hearts of men were simpler,
And the needs of life were less,
And its mercies were not reckoned
By the measure of excess.
Heaven send the glad Thanksgiving
Of that older, simpler time!
Tarry with us, not in fancy,
Not in retrospective rhyme;
But in true and living earnest
May the spirit of that day,
Artless, plain, and unpretending,
Once again resume its sway!