Thanksgiving Comes in Autumn
by Edith M. Thomas
I found one flower of heavenly blue
a southward bourne;
"What bloom art thou, that wakest now,
On verge of days forlorn.
No kin of thine
the fields to bless?"
then, spirit-eyed, the flower replied;
"I am the plant of Thankfulness,
bloom when all the fields be shorn."
I heard one last sweet son on wing-
rose at sunset lone;
"What bird is this, when woodlands miss
The chorus once their own-
by the tempest's stress?"
A fluted note did earthward float;
"I am the song of Thankfulness,
free when other songs be flown."
Thanksgiving comes in autumn, Ay,
heart within my breast;
Now thou art old, thy last joys told
Yet one outlives the rest.
and Age upon thee press,
One inward joy naught can destroy;
It is the Joy of Thankfulness;
- it sings - it makes thee blest.