SONG FOR THANKSGIVING.
199
As lingers a strain on the strings of a lyre,
So, this Thanksgiving Song, and that old-fashioned fire,
Will waken fond memories of childhood's bright days,
When our souls gaily basked in Hope's golden rays;
When earth with its scenes, bore a semblance of heaven,
Or some fairy-land home to our young fancy given.
So, this Thanksgiving Song, and that old-fashioned fire,
Will waken fond memories of childhood's bright days,
When our souls gaily basked in Hope's golden rays;
When earth with its scenes, bore a semblance of heaven,
Or some fairy-land home to our young fancy given.
