And here is your mother at your side,
Braiding a beautiful mat,
I’m old, my boy, but with you yet—
You might thank the Lord for that.
Your wife is a good and patient soul,
Not given to worry or spat,
Nice to see, and pleasant to hear,
You might thank the Lord for that.
Here in the cradle at my side
Is something worth looking at,
She came this disappointing year,
You might thank the Lord for that.
Your boy is calling out, “Daddy!”
As hard as ever he can,
There’s lots of folks would thank the Lord
For just such a bonnie man.
Ashamed of yourself, eh, Reuben?
Well, I rather thought you’d be—
What! going to keep Thanksgiving
In a manner good to see?
To kill the biggest gobbler
That’s strutting round the farm?
To give poor folks provisions,
And clothes to keep them warm?
You’re going to help and comfort
Each sad old wight you find?
You’re feeling so rich and thankful,
And heaven has been so kind?
Ah, now my own boy, Reuben,
I’m so glad we’ve had this chat,
You’re growing so like your father—
You might thank the Lord for that.
