Poems about Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving by Charles Follen Adams
- Within a garret, cold and forlorn,
- A group is gathered Thanksgiving morn:
- Father and mother, with children three—
- One but a babe on the mother’s knee.
- Haggard and pale is the father’s face,
- Where lingering sickness has left its trace;
- While the careworn look on the mother’s brow
- Tells of the sorrow upon her now.
- Hungry and faint from the lack of food,
- With scanty clothing, no coal nor wood;
- A broken table, a bare pine floor—
- What have they to be thankful for?
- Thoughts like these to the parents come,
- While sitting here in their cheerless home.
- The children, nestled upon the bed,
- A fragment of carpet over them spread,
- Are blind to their parents’ mute despair;
- And the little girl, with a pitying air,
- Says, “What do poor children do, I wonder,
- With no warm carpet to cuddle under;
- “No papa and mamma to give ’em bread,
- And tuck ’em up when they go to bed?”
- Tear-drops start from the father’s eyes;
- Prayers from the mother’s lips arise.
- Footsteps fall on the creaking floor;
- A knock is heard on the chamber door.
- A bluff ” Good-morning” their query brings,
- And, “Sambo, you rascal, fetch up the things!”
- While the squire’s darkey, with cheerful grin,
- Food and clothing brings quickly in.
- “Lord bless you, ma’am! why, who’d a knowed
- That folks lived up in this ‘ere abode?
- “‘Tain’t fit for a barn, ‘n’, ez I’m a sinner,
- I’ll take you all to my house to dinner.
- “I’ll find you work when you’re strong and well,
- ‘N’ a better place than this ‘ere to dwell—”
- And the squire paused, while a tear arose,
- And dropped unseen on his ruby nose,
- As the baby boy, with a happy look,
- A rosy apple from Sambo took.
- And the children gathered, with hungry eyes,
- ‘Round the platter of doughnuts and pumpkin pies;
- While the grateful mother could only say,
- “Truly, this is Thanksgiving Day!”
Giving Thanks By Florence Earle Coates
Published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger (1917)
Thou that dost save through pain,
And dost, afflicting, bless,
We offer Thee from prostrate hearts
The Greater Thankfulness!
Lord, Thou hast humbled pride—
Hast shown the world at length
What ruthlessness may dwell with Power,
What bankruptcy with Strength;
And teaching us the scorn
Of trifles that beguile,
Hast given us, dear God, to live
When life is most worth while!
We thank Thee for the dream
That heroes dreamed of yore,
For the desire of good, the will
Earth’s freedom to restore;
Spoiled children of the Past,
To-day, more nobly blest,
We thank Thee who hast wakened us,
And asked of us our best!
God of the young and brave
Who nothing know of fear,
Who hold the things that life outlast
Than life itself more dear,
We thank Thee that our souls
Are strong as theirs to give—
All, all we cherish most on earth,
That Liberty may live!
That we, O Good supreme!
Still through our tears can see
On the brow of Death an aureole