She makes such soups and sauces and such salad and soufflée.
No wonder all the family comes to spend Thanksgiving Day!
Grandmother.
All true, my daughter, but, remember, too,
Beside the family welcomed home by you,
A wider hospitality it shows
If you add friends and neighbors unto those;
Invite them all,—aye, as the good Book states,
Welcome the stranger that‘s within thy gates.
Earth.
Yes, Grandmother, you‘re right,—and to my mind,
To share our blessings shows a spirit kind;
True hospitality to all who come
Shows gratitude for gifts of Harvest Home.
Grandmother and Earth (sing; air, “When the Swallows Homeward Fly”).
In the days of long ago,
Sleigh-bells jingled o‘er the snow;
Neighbors flocked from far and near,
Joining in our homely cheer.
Tables groaned ‘neath savory load,
Blazing logs on hearthstones glowed,
Hospitality‘s glad sway
Ruled the old Thanksgiving Day.
Father.
Now, that‘s all very well. But, I declare
You women-folks don‘t seem to know or care
Where these things come from. Let me tell you now,
Unless somebody drives a busy plow,
Prepares the earth and plants the proper seeds,
And digs and rakes and hoes and pulls up weeds,
And cultivates the soil with judgment wise.—
You won‘t have any pumpkins for your pies!
