A Country Thanksgiving

Harvest is home. The bins are full, The barns are running o'er; Both irrains and fruits we've garnered in Till we've no spaoe for more. We've worked and toiled through heat and cold, To plant, to sow, to reap; And now for all this bounteous store Liet us Tbanksgiving keep. The nuta have ripened on the trees, The golden pumpkins round Bave yielded to our industry Their wealto from out the ground. The cattle lowing in the flelds, The horsen in tlieir stalls, The sheep nnd fowls all gave increase, Until our very walls Are bendine out with God's good gifta. And now the day is here When we should show the Glver that We hold those mercies dear. We take our live, our joys, our wealth, Unthanking every day; If we deserve or we do not, The sun it Bhines alway. So in thia life of daily tof), That laves short time to pray, With brimmiug heart all humbly keep One true Thanksgiving Day. And if tbere be some sorrowing ones, Ije favorert than we are, A generóos gift to them, I thluk. Is juat as good aa prayer.