Dolly, it’s almost Thanksgiving; do you know what that means, my dear?
No? Well, I couldn’t expect it; you haven’t been with us a year,
And you came with my auntie from Paris, far over the wide blue sea,
And you’ll keep your first Thanksgiving, my beautiful Dolly, with me.
I’ll tell you about it, my darling, for grandma’s explained it all,
So that I understand why Thanksgiving always comes late in the fall,
When the nuts and the apples are gathered, and the work in the field is done,
And the fields, all reaped and silent, are asleep in the autumn sun.
It is then that we praise Our Father who sends the rain and the dew,
Whose wonderful loving-kindness is every morning new;