SONG FOR THANKSGIVING.
There's a day of the year—how sweet its name sounds,
At its mention the heart of each little child bounds;
When all are assembled around the fireside,
Old folks, youths and maidens, the bridegroom and bride;
The knitting's laid by, the yarn is all spun,
The feasting is followed by stories and fun;
The housewife is blushing to hear her guests say—
"They've not had such a dinner for many a day:"
Then see that wood-fire on the old-fashioned hearth,
But few can resist its loud summons to mirth;
Though the flame seems an emblem of those who are gone,
For it dies, and we find but a lonely hearthstone.
Yet the scene is a gay one, as long as it lasts,
Though oft when they smile, a cloud overcasts
At its mention the heart of each little child bounds;
When all are assembled around the fireside,
Old folks, youths and maidens, the bridegroom and bride;
The knitting's laid by, the yarn is all spun,
The feasting is followed by stories and fun;
The housewife is blushing to hear her guests say—
"They've not had such a dinner for many a day:"
Then see that wood-fire on the old-fashioned hearth,
But few can resist its loud summons to mirth;
Though the flame seems an emblem of those who are gone,
For it dies, and we find but a lonely hearthstone.
Yet the scene is a gay one, as long as it lasts,
Though oft when they smile, a cloud overcasts
