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The Pilgrims Give Thanks

Just look upon the land and see the yield
Of pumpkins, corn, and squash in every field.
The shocks of corn are glistening in the sun
With coats of frost on every one.

Come, let us have a feast with praise
To God, who blessed the crops we raise.
Have Massacoit and all his men
Bring deer and visit us again.

Together, we will roast the meat---
Wild turkey, venison we'll eat.
Some pumpkins, corn, and hoe-cake bread
Will grace the board when thanks are said.

A last, we have our feast prepared.
We thank our God for how we've fared,
For crops that He has helped us grow
And for the seed we have to sow.

Our Horn of Plenty overflows
With product from the land we chose.
We give our thanks to God above
For all His care and help and love.

by Marjorie Lindsey Brewer


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At this time of year,
we pause to reflect
on our many blessings.

 

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We give thanks for our family
and for our friends.  



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Thankful

Today I am thankful
For things not seen
Today I am thankful
For deeds not done
Today I am thankful
For words not said
And today I am thankful
For life unknown
For that life yet to be lived
Is a thing to be seen
A deed to be done
And for a loving word to be said

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For the Beauty of the Earth

For the beauty of the earth,
for the glory of the skies,
for the love which from our birth
over and around us lies;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the beauty of each hour
of the day and of the night,
hill and vale, and tree and flower,
sun and moon, and stars of light;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye,
for the heart and mind's delight,
for the mystic harmony,
linking sense to sound and sight;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love,
brother, sister, parent, child,
friends on earth and friends above,
for all gentle thoughts and mild;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For thy church, that evermore
lifteth holy hands above,
offering upon every shore
her pure sacrifice of love;

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

For thyself, best Gift Divine,
to the world so freely given,
for that great, great love of thine,
peace on earth, and joy in heaven:

Lord of all, to thee we raise
this our hymn of grateful praise.

Lyrics by Folliot S. Pierpoint (1835-1917)
Arrangement from Conrad Kocher (1786-1872) by W. H. Monk (1823-1889)


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Send a Thanksgiving Postcard

 

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Now Thank We All Our God

Now thank we all our God,
With heart and hands and voices,
Who wondrous things has done,
In whom this world rejoices;

Who from our mothers' arms
Has blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love,
And still is ours today.

O may this bounteous God
Through all our life be near us,
With ever joyful hearts
And blessed peace to cheer us;

And keep us still in grace,
And guide us when perplexed;
And free us from all ills,
In this world and the next.

All praise and thanks to God
The Father now be given;
The Son, and him who reigns
With them in highest heaven;

The one eternal God,
Whom earth and heaven adore;
For thus it was, is now,
And shall be evermore.

Based on Ecclesiasticus 50:22-24 by Martin Rinkart (1586-1649)
Translated by Catherine Winkworth (1827-1878)
Music: Johann Crüger (1598-1662) Harmony by Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

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Come, Ye Thankful People Come

Come ye thankful people come,
Raise the song of harvest home!
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin;
God our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied:
Come to God's own temple, come,
Raise the song of harvest home.

All the world is God's own field
Fruit unto his praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown
Unto joy or sorrow grown;
First the blade, and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear;
Lord of the harvest! grant that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be.

For the Lord our God shall come,
And shall take his harvest home;
From his field shall in that day
All offenses purge away,
Give his angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast;
But the fruitful ears to store
In his garner evermore.

Even so, Lord, quickly come,
Bring thy final harvest home;
Gather thou thy people in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin,
There, forever purified,
in thy presence to abide;
Come, with all thine angels, come,
Raise the glorious harvest home.

Sir George J. Elvey (1816-1893), wrote the music to this Thanksgiving hymn about 1844.
The lyrics are by Henry Alford (1810-1871).

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  Click below for more of GrannyDancer's
Thanksgiving blessings...

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Updated: May 28, 2005
© 1999-2005 GrannyDancer Productions
all rights reserved



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