Is it not fit that we should pray
Our thanks to Providence each day
For every blessing Freedom showers?
For this our Flag? This country, ours?
The thrill of dawn; the swooping hawk?
For moonlight spilled upon a walk?
A perfumed flower; a haunting song?
Our leisure hours; a Christmas throng?
The poignancy of backward looks;
For covers of familiar books?
For solace from wooded glade
In summer, patterned light and hade?
The tasks contented lives demand;
The warm clasp of friendly hand?
An Elm tree’s shape; October skies;
For longing trust in children’s eyes?
The poorest American can afford
Full all these things, who love the Lord;
Father, her us as we say,
“Thanks again”, Thanksgiving Day.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, October 4, 1944
