Sights of Thanksgiving Time
Fall crispness in the air, morning dew sparkling on the dawn ground, a full, round, bright yellow moon hanging in the night sky, these bring Thanksgiving time into view.
Cornstalks, dry straw, green, yellow and browns coloring gourds, pumpkins and all, apple cider spiced with cinnamon steaming on kitchen stove, fresh pies spied cooling on counter tops, these too bring Thanksgiving time to mind.
Rosy cheeks, woolen scarves and mittens come out from hidden drawer, warming fires crackle taking chill from air, these too are sights found at Thanksgiving time.
Folks gathering, caring, sharing, bringing pauseful thoughts, thankful for those here and those now missed, raising voice in praiseful thanks for the bounty given, deliverance granted and peacefulness sought, yes these are found at Thanksgiving time.
In simple word or those of grand majesty are found the sights, tastes, feels, smells, colors and thoughts of Thanksgiving...these to share at so special a time of year.
T.Condon Oct.'98
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
The breaking waves dash'd high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches toss'd;
And the heavy night hung dark,
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moor'd their bark
On the wild
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;-
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea:
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free!
The ocean eagle soar'd
From his nest by the white wave's foam
And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd-
This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:-
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
They sought a faith's pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trode.
They have left unstained, what there they found
Freedom to worship God.
~Felicia Dorothea Hemans
1826
