An Old Thanksgiving Day


O'er well remembered paths that lead to fields of long ago,Although my feet have lost the way nor may its windings know,My heart turns back, as birds return to summer lands of cheer,Or as a pilgrim, worn and gray, unto his home draws near;My heart turns back, the slow years fade, a boy again am I,Who lacks the wisdom of the world, but also lacks its sighThe fire burns low, the mists steal out that hide the past away:Again I am a little boy upon Thanksgiving Day.No palace was my grandsire's home, a cottage brown and old,The only wealth it ever knew was sweet contentment's gold;All homely was our daily fare, but simple, kindly cheerGave it a zest that banquets lack through every later year;Each meal began with spoken words of reverential praiseThat He whose love is o'er us all was heeding still our ways.So passed the days, remote from care, unmindful of the fray,Till brightly o'er the waiting world there dawned Thanksgiving Day.

The Lectures
November 27, 1902

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