THANKSGIVING by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER

WHAT time the latest flower hath bloomed,
The latest bird hath southward flown;
When silence weaves o'er garnered sheaves
Sweet idyls in our northern zone;
When scattered children rest beside
The hearth, and hold the mother's hand,
Then rolls Thanksgiving's ample tide
Of fervent praise across the land.

And though the autumn stillness broods
Where spring was glad with song and stir,
Though summer's grace leave little trace
On fields that smiled at sight of her,
Still glows the sunset's altar fire
With crimson flame and heart of gold,
And faith uplifts, with strong desire
And deep content, the hymns of old.

We bless our God for wondrous wealth,
Through all the bright benignant year;
For shower and rain, for ripened grain;
For gift and guerdon, far and near.
We bless the ceaseless Providence
That watched us through the peaceful days,
That led us home, or brought us thence,
And kept us in our various ways.

And if the hand so much that gave
Hath something taken from our store,
If caught from sight, to heaven's pure light,
Some precious ones are here no more,
We still adore the Friend above,
Who, while earth's road grows steep and dim,
Yet comforts us, in tender love,
And holds our darlings close to Him.

Thanks, then, O God! From sea to sea
Let every wind the anthem bear!
And hearts be rife through toil and strife,
With joyful praise and grateful prayer.
Our fathers' God, their children sing
The grace they sought through storm and sun;
Our harvest tribute here we bring,
And end it with, "Thy will be done."

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