THANKSGIVINGWe walk on starry fields of whiteAnd do not see the daisies,For blessings common in our sightWe rarely offer praises.We sigh for some supreme delightTo crown our lives with splendour,And quite ignore our daily storeOf pleasures sweet and tender.Our cares are bold and push their wayUpon our thought and feeling;They hang about us all the day,Our time from pleasure stealing.So unobtrusive many a joyWe pass by and forget it,But worry strives to own our lives,And conquers if we let it.There’s not a day in all the yearBut holds some hidden pleasure,And, looking back, joys oft appearTo brim the past’s wide measure.But blessings are like friends, I hold,Who love and labour near us.We ought to raise our notes of praiseWhile living hearts can hear us.Full many a blessing wears the guiseOf worry or of trouble;Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,Who knows the mask is double.But he who has the faith and strengthTo thank his God for sorrowHas found a joy without alloyTo gladden every morrow.We ought to make the moments notesOf happy, glad Thanksgiving;The hours and days a silent phraseOf music we are living.And so the theme should swell and growAs weeks and months pass o’er us,And rise sublime at this good time,A grand Thanksgiving chorus.
We walk on starry fields of whiteAnd do not see the daisies,For blessings common in our sightWe rarely offer praises.We sigh for some supreme delightTo crown our lives with splendour,And quite ignore our daily storeOf pleasures sweet and tender.
Our cares are bold and push their wayUpon our thought and feeling;They hang about us all the day,Our time from pleasure stealing.So unobtrusive many a joyWe pass by and forget it,But worry strives to own our lives,And conquers if we let it.
There’s not a day in all the yearBut holds some hidden pleasure,And, looking back, joys oft appearTo brim the past’s wide measure.But blessings are like friends, I hold,Who love and labour near us.We ought to raise our notes of praiseWhile living hearts can hear us.
Full many a blessing wears the guiseOf worry or of trouble;Far-seeing is the soul, and wise,Who knows the mask is double.But he who has the faith and strengthTo thank his God for sorrowHas found a joy without alloyTo gladden every morrow.
We ought to make the moments notesOf happy, glad Thanksgiving;The hours and days a silent phraseOf music we are living.And so the theme should swell and growAs weeks and months pass o’er us,And rise sublime at this good time,A grand Thanksgiving chorus.