From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 153-154.
THANKSGIVING
The air is crisp, the air is clear;
For zest and joy of living,
For all the blessings of the year
We join in glad Thanksgiving.
All summer open to the sun
The fertile earth has lain;
Receptive leaves have drunk the light,
Far-seeking roots the rain.
A kindly spirit walked our hills,
By wood and field and fell,
To paint the trees, to ripen grain
And cause the nuts to swell,
The spirit of a friendly God
Who wishes all men well.
We felt Him in the pleasantness
Of morn and evening hushes;
His midday sun upon the fruit
Has warmed it into blushes.
We smelled Him in the fragrant breeze
That blew from blossoming clover;
We saw Him in the maple trees
That bend our homesteads over.
And now, when come the shorter days
[154]
Of bracing autumn weather,
We join once more about the hearth
And offer thanks together.
Our barns are tight and, lodged therein,
Our well-fed beasts are warm;
Our household shelter pleasant seems
In contrast with the storm.
The crops are in, the fields begin
Their well-earned winter sleeping;
The harvests of the years to be
Are in the Father’s keeping.
We thank Him for the rugged strength
That garners, sows and tills,
For cattle that have sought our barns
From off His thousand hills;
For autumn air, for peaceful smoke
Above our chimneys curled,
But mostly for our noble task,
To feed His hungry world.