Thanksgiving.

Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft
    Of her supernal charm;
And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left,
    Like crape upon her arm,
    In boreal hints, and sudden gusts
    That fan the glowing ember,
    By multitude of ways fulfills
    The promise of November.

Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away,
    Lies the rich afterglow
Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday
    That antedates the snow:
    The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer,
    The festival commotion
    That stirs fraternal feeling from
    The mountains to the ocean.

O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand
    In generous dealing, where
Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band,
    And let no vacant chair
    Show where the strongest, brightest link
    In love's dear chain is broken -
    A symbol more pathetic than
    By language ever spoken.

Into the place held sacred to the memory of some
    Beloved absentee,
Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come
    And in gratuity
    Partake of festal favors that
    Shall sweeten hours of labor,
    And strengthen amity and love
    Unto his friend and neighbor.

Let gratitude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend,
    A blessing to secure,
And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend
    To all deserving poor;
    So may the day be hallowed by
    Unstinted thanks and giving,
    In sweet remembrance of the dead
    And kindness to the living.