Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GIVE THANKS FOR WHAT?, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GIVE THANKS FOR WHAT?, by                    
First Line: "'let earth give thanks,' the deacon said"
Last Line: And thank god that it ain't no wuss!
Subject(s): Clergy;earth; Priests;rabbis;ministers;bishops;world


"LET earth give thanks," the deacon said,
And then the Proclamation read.

"Give thanks fer what, an' what about?"
Asked Simon Soggs when church was out; --
"Give thanks fer what? I don't see why,
The rust got in an' spiled my rye,
And hay wa'n't half a crop, and corn
All wilted down and looked forlorn.
The bugs just gobbled my pertaters
The what you call 'em -- lineaters,
And gracious! when you come to wheat,
There's more than all the world can eat;
Onless a war should interfere,
Crops won't bring half a price this year;
I'll hev to give 'em away, I reckon!"

"Good for the poor!" exclaimed the deacon.

"Give thanks fer what?" asked Simon Soggs;
"Fer th' freshet carryin' off my logs?
Fer Dobbin goin' blind? Fer five
Uv my best cows, that was alive
Afore the smashin' railroad come
And made it awful troublesome?
Fer that haystack the lightnin' struck
And burnt to ashes? -- thunderin' luck! --
Fer ten dead sheep?" sighed Simon Soggs.

The deacon said, "You've got yer hogs!"

"Give thanks? And Jane and baby sick?
I e'enmost wonder if Ole Nick
Ain't running things!"
The deacon said,
"Simon, your people might be dead!"

"Give thanks!" said Simon Soggs again.
"Jest look at what a fix we 're in!
The country's rushin' to the dogs
At race-horse speed!" said Simon Soggs.
"Rotten all through, in every State;
Why, ef we don't repudiate,
We'll have to build, for big and small,
A poorhouse that'll hold us all!
Down South the crooked whiskey-still
Is running like the Devil's mill.
The nigger skulks in night's disguise,
And hooks a chicken as he flies.
Up North there's murder everywhere,
And awful doings, I declare.
Give thanks? How mad it makes me feel
to think how office-holders steal!
The taxes paid by you and me
Is four times bigger 'n they should be.
The Fed'ral Gover'ment's all askew;
The ballot's sech a mockery, too!
Some votes too little, some too much,
Some not at all -- it beats the Dutch!
And now no man knows what to do,
Or how is how or who is who.
Deacon, corruption's sure to kill!
This 'glorious Union' never will,
I'll bet a Continental cent,
Elect another President!
Give thanks fer what, I'd like to know!"

The deacon answered, sad and low,
"Simon, it fills me with surprise
Ye don't see where yer duty lies;
Kneel right straight down in all the muss,
And thank God that it ain't no wuss!"





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