What care we for the pang at heart?
'Twill all be gone some day;
And then tho' our enemies'ld crush us,
They'll be scattered far away.
Tho' this is a sad Thanksgiving,
A better one's coming our way,
When we'll all be home to share in the "pone"
And hear our angeled sister pray.
What if the gold of the corn lands
Is faded to somber grey?
And what if the down of the thistle
Is ripened and scattered away?
Away to the east in a far off land
There's turkey the heart to cheer.
Where the dear ones are partaking
And thinking of one that's here;
There's father and mother and sister and brother, all so far away.
There's a blessed time a-coming—
The prisoner's Thanksgiving day.