Thanksgiving: Its Origin, Celebration and Significance as Related in Prose and Verse

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Robert Haven Schauffler
Moffat, Yard, 1907 - 265 oldal
 

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134. oldal - COME, ye thankful people, come, Raise the song of harvest-home ! All is safely gathered in, Ere the winter storms begin : God, our Maker, doth provide For our wants to be supplied : Come to God's own temple, come, Raise the song of harvest-home...
214. oldal - Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
xii. oldal - Thou shalt observe the feast of tabernacles seven days, after that thou hast gathered in thy corn and thy wine : and thou shalt rejoice in thy feast, thou, and thy son, and thy daughter, and thy manservant, and thy maid-servant, and the Levite, the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow, that are within thy gates.
xii. oldal - So the people went forth, and brought them, and made themselves booths, every one upon the roof of his house, and in their courts, and in the courts of the house of God, and in the street of the water gate, and in the street of the gate of Ephraim.
213. oldal - And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease; For summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.
xxi. oldal - Whereas it is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor...
204. oldal - For flowers that bloom about our feet, For tender grass so fresh, so sweet, For song of bird and hum of bee, For all things fair we hear or see, Father in Heaven, we thank Thee! For blue of stream and blue of sky, For pleasant shade of branches high, For fragrant air and cooling breeze, For beauty of the blooming trees, Father in Heaven, we thank Thee!
53. oldal - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free.
126. oldal - Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard ! Heap high the golden corn ! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn ! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine ; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow.
213. oldal - Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

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