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At Thanksgiving
For the wealth of pathless forests,
Whereon no axe may fall;
For the winds that haunt the branches;
The young bird's timid call;
For the red leaves dropped like rubies
Upon the dark green sod;
For the weaving of the forests,
I thank Thee, O my God!
For the sound of water gushing
In bubbling beads of light;
For the fleets of snow white lilies
Firm anchored out of sight;
For the reeds among the eddies;
The crystal on the clod;
For the flowing of the rivers,
I thank Thee, O my God!
For the rosebud's break of beauty
Along the toiler's way;
For the violet's eye that opens
To bless the new born day;
For the bare twigs that in summer
Bloom like the prophet's rod;
For the blossoming of flowers,
I thank Thee, O my God!
For the lifting up of mountains,
In brightness and in dread;
For the peaks where snow and sunshine
Alone have dared to tread;
For the dark of silent gorges,
Whence mighty ceders nod;
For the majesty of mountains,
I thank Thee, O my God!
For the splendor of the sunsets,
Vast mirrored on the sea;
For the gold fringed clouds that curtain
Heaven's inner mystery;
For the molten bars of twilight,
Where thought leans glad yet awed;
For the glory of the sunsets,
I thank Thee, O my God!
For the earth and all its beauty;
The sky and all its light;
For the dim and soothing shadows,
That rest the dazzled sight;
For unfading fields and prairies,
Where sebse in vain has trod;
For the world's exhaustless beauty,
I thank Thee, O my God!
For an eye of inward seeing;
A soul to know and love;
For these common aspirations,
That our high heirship prove;
For the hearts that bless each other
Beneath Thy smile, Thy rod;
For the amaranth saved from Eden,
I thank Thee, O my God!
For the hidden scroll, o'erwritten
With one dear name adored;
For the Heavenly in the human,
The spirit in the Word;
For the tokens of Thy presence
Within, above, abroad;
For Thine own great gift of Being
I thank Thee, O my God!
Lucy Larcom
A spooked turkey can run at speeds up to 20 miles per hour. They can also burst into flight approaching speeds between 50-55 mph in a matter of seconds.
Give me the end of the year an' its fun
When most of the plannin' an' toilin' is done;
Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,
Let me sit down with the ones I love best,
Hear the old voices still ringin' with song,
See the old faces unblemished by wrong,
See the old table with all of its chairs
An' I'll put soul in my Thanksgivin' prayers.
- Edgar A. Guest, Thanksgiving
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