America's Thanksgiving

1900

Father all bountiful, in mercy bear
With this our universal voice of prayer -
    The voice that needs must be
    Upraised in thanks to Thee,
O Father, from Thy children everywhere.

A multitudinous voice, wherein we fain
Wouldst have Thee hear no lightest sob of pain -
    No murmur of distress,
    Nor moan of loneliness,
Nor drip of tears, though soft as summer rain.

And, Father, give us first to comprehend,
No ill can come from Thee; lean Thou and lend
    Us clearer sight to see
    Our boundless debt to Thee,
Since all Thy deeds are blessings, in the end.

And let us feel and know that, being Thine,
We are inheritors of hearts divine,
    And hands endowed with skill,
    And strength to work Thy will,
And fashion to fulfilment Thy design.

So, let us thank Thee, with all self aside,
Nor any lingering taint of mortal pride;
    As here to Thee we dare
    Uplift our faltering prayer,
Lend it some fervor of the glorified.

We thank Thee that our land is loved of Thee
The blessed home of thrift and industry,
    With ever-open door
    Of welcome to the poor -
Thy shielding hand o'er all abidingly.

E'en thus we thank Thee for the wrong that grew
Into a right that heroes battled to,
    With brothers long estranged,
    Once more as brothers ranged
Beneath the red and white and starry blue.

Ay, thanks - though tremulous the thanks expressed -
Thanks for the battle at its worst, and best -
    For all the clanging fray
    Whose discord dies away
Into a pastoral-song of peace and rest.

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

James Whitcomb Riley

The Song Of Yesterday

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Our Boyhood Haunts

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

The Hoosier Folk-Child.

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

In Fervent Praise Of Picnics

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Thanksgiving.

    Let us be thankful - not only because
        Since last our universal thanks were told
    We have grown greater in the world's applause,
        And fortune's newer smiles surpass the old -

    But thankful for all things that come as alms
        From out the open hand of Providence: -
    The winter clouds and storms - -the summer calms -
        The sleepless dread - the drowse of indolence.

    Let us be thankful - thankful for the prayers
        Whose gracious answers were long, long delayed,
    That they might fall upon us unawares,
        And bless us, as in greater need, we prayed.

    Let us be thankful for the loyal hand
        That love held out in welcome to our own,
    When love and only love could understand
        The ne...

James Whitcomb Riley

Thanksgiving.

[Nov. 26, 1857, during the great financial depression.]

Father, our thanks are due to thee
For many a blessing given,
By thy paternal love and care,
From the bounty-horn of heaven.

We know that still that horn is filled
With blessings for our race,
And we calmly look thro' winter's storm
To thy benignant face.

Father, we raise our thanks to Thee,
Who seldom thanked before;
And seldom bent the stubborn knee
Thy goodness to adore:

But Father, thou hast blessings poured
On all our wayward days
And now thy mercies manifold
Have filled our hearts with praise

The winter-storm may rack and roar;
We do not fear its blast;
And we'll bear with faith and fortitude
The lot that thou hast cast.

But Father, Father...

Hanford Lennox Gordon

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving for the strong armed day,
That lifted war's red curse,
When Peace, that lordly little word,
Was uttered in a voice that stirred -
Yea, shook the Universe.

Thanksgiving for the Mighty Hour
That brimmed the Victor's cup,
When England signalled to the foe,
'The German flag must be brought low
And not again hauled up!'

Thanksgiving for the sea and air
Free from the Devil's might!
Thanksgiving that the human race
Can lift once more a rev'rent face,
And say, 'God helps the Right.'

Thanksgiving for our men who came
In Heaven-protected ships,
The waning tide of hope to swell,
With 'Lusitania' and 'Cavell'
As watchwords on their lips.

Thanksgiving that our splendid dead,
All radiant with youth,
Dwell ne...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Thanksgiving Day.

God of the harvest, once again
Our joyful tones we raise,
For all Thy goodness, day by day,
We give Thee thankful praise.

With blessings rich, from fertile field,
And gifts from fruitful tree,
We wish, this day, our thanks to yield
With earnest hearts, to Thee.

We plough'd the ground, we sow'd the seed,
But Thou didst send the rain
In grateful show'rs, in time of need,
And now we've reap'd the grain.

The sun with grateful heat did shine;
The dew did nightly fall;
And now, for loaded tree and vine -
We give Thee thanks for all.

The bee, in well-fill'd honey cells,
Her sweets for us hath stow'd,
The crystal water in the wells,
For us from springs hath flow'd.

The lowing herd, the prancing steed
Receiv'd we f...

Thomas Frederick Young

A Song Of Thanks

For the sun that shone at the dawn of spring,
For the flowers which bloom and the birds that sing,
For the verdant robe of the gray old earth,
For her coffers filled with their countless worth,
For the flocks which feed on a thousand hills,
For the rippling streams which turn the mills,
For the lowing herds in the lovely vale,
For the songs of gladness on the gale, -
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks, -
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the farmer reaping his whitened fields,
For the bounty which the rich soil yields,
For the cooling dews and refreshing rains,
For the sun which ripens the golden grains,
For the beaded wheat and the fattened swine,
For the stallèd ox and the fruitful vine,
For the tubers large and cotton white,

Edward Smyth Jones

A Thanksgiving Poem

The sun hath shed its kindly light,
Our harvesting is gladly o'er
Our fields have felt no killing blight,
Our bins are filled with goodly store.

From pestilence, fire, flood, and sword
We have been spared by thy decree,
And now with humble hearts, O Lord,
We come to pay our thanks to thee.

We feel that had our merits been
The measure of thy gifts to us,
We erring children, born of sin,
Might not now be rejoicing thus.

No deed of ours hath brought us grace;
When thou were nigh our sight was dull,
We hid in trembling from thy face,
But thou, O God, wert merciful.

Thy mighty hand o'er all the land
Hath still been open to bestow
Those blessings which our wants demand
From heaven, whence all blessings flow.

Thou has...

Paul Laurence Dunbar