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.