.V6 
 
 ^- » VINCENT. 
 
A Thanksgiving Poem 
 
 i BY 
 
 C S. VINCENT, A. M, M. D., 
 
 i 
 
 DELIVERED AT THE 
 
 UNION THANKSGIVING SERVICE 
 
 IN 
 
 
 TURNERS FALLS, MASS., 
 
 November 24, 188; 
 
 >.diyHf^ 
 
 vS 
 
 / 
 
 1887. 
 
 B. P. MYERS, PRINTER, 
 
 Turners Falls, Mass. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 
 1887, by 
 
 C. S. VINCENT, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at 
 Washington. 
 
THANKSGIVING. 
 
 The Mayflower bore to Plymouth Bay 
 The authors of Thanksgiving-day. 
 
 Privation reigned for three long years, 
 And added to the Pilgrims' fears 
 The dread of famine's ghastly face, 
 As though she coveted the place 
 They held upon the rugged coast, 
 And frowned upon them like a ghost! 
 
 So pressing was their need of food 
 That all the perils of the wood, 
 The felling of the wilderness, 
 And every frontier hardiness. 
 The risk of life from savages, 
 And fell disease's ravages, 
 Could not compare with fears for bread. 
 As hard they labored to be fed. 
 And daily, hourly Godward prayed, 
 "Give us this day our daily breatl." 
 
 In sixteen hundred twenty-three, 
 The corn-fields yielded plenteously, 
 The pumpkins looked like balls of gold, 
 Wild turkeys came in flocks untold, 
 Dire famine fled to parts unknown, 
 So plentN' everywhere was strown, 
 And every heart rejoiced and sang 
 Till with thanksgiving forests rang. 
 
 And when the autumn days had come 
 That they might shout the harvest liome 
 More reverently, their magistrate, 
 A faithful servant early and late, 
 Appointed them thanksgiving-day. 
 On which to sing, and prais*;, and pray 
 The Heavenly Father for his grace. 
 
THANKiSGlVlNG, 
 
 Rejoicing they hart found a place 
 
 Where they had lived with conscience clear 
 
 In peace and plenty that good year. 
 
 Within the church they service had 
 To show the world that they were glad 
 The hopeful colony remained 
 To thank the Lord that plenty reigned. 
 The preacher, "Elder Brewster," said 
 So many things that made them glad, 
 That well they dined when at the board 
 Which ladened amply had been stored 
 With "hoe cakes" hot, that season's corn. 
 Roast turkeys wild shot on that morn, 
 And other game that hunters four 
 Had haply shot the day before,— 
 Though last, not least, the pumpkin pie 
 Wound up the feast, and this is why,— 
 They'd nothing else for pie instead, 
 And so they ate it and were glad. 
 
 Chief Massasoit, too, was there 
 With ninety braves the feast to share. 
 And with them lengthened out the feast , 
 Three happy days as mirth increased. 
 And brought the Pilgrims venison, 
 Five deer, an Indian's benizon. 
 
 The Pilgrims did not dream that they 
 Had given us thanksgiving-day. 
 And that a nation yet unborn 
 Would imitate that festive morn, 
 And end it with a dinner grand 
 To be enjoyed throughout the land. 
 
 The humble Pilgrims did not know 
 How large a barge they had in tow, 
 Nor that their tread on Plymouth rock 
 Would be a giant's in the shock, 
 And underneath their dauntless heel 
 This country finds the sacred seal 
 Of our republic framed to be 
 The genial soil of liberty. 
 
 At church the Pilgrims sang and prayed, 
 Around the table lingered, stayed, 
 To talk about their Plymouth home, 
 Recall the land from whence they'd come, 
 See how the colony might thrive 
 And happily their children live 
 
THANJ-CSOrVIJSlO, 
 
 Where tyranny might neer invade, 
 Nor church nor state make them afraid. 
 
 The Pilgrims hoped thanksgiving-day 
 Their chiklren would observe alway, 
 Nor thought that mighty states as we 
 Would blend as they in unity, 
 Confess a nation's gratitude, 
 And craving God's beatitude, 
 Would from the greatest to the least 
 Enjoy it as a nation's feast. 
 
 The revolution it was called, 
 That exodus of those enthralled 
 Within the grasp of a lion's share, 
 The meshes of Great Britain's snare! 
 
 We see if the (^ause we closely scan 
 It was a war of man to be man. 
 To build him mills in ih' western woods, 
 A war to manufacture goods, 
 A war against monopoly 
 As well as British tyranny. 
 Loud England called for the lion's share. 
 Left little untaxed save water and air, 
 B\)rbade us to work in iron or steel. 
 Our forges closed, forbade to anneal; 
 Our commerce all was taken away, 
 All trade was taxed lest it should pay ; 
 We must not weave in these back-woods, 
 But from Great Britain buy all goods ; 
 We must not sew a single stitch 
 That might not make the British rich ! ' 
 Would not some good thanksgiving-daj'' 
 Yet mark a nation's liberty? 
 
 Our fathers alwaj'S had been free 
 
 Since in the Mayflower they had fled 
 
 From England's bitter tyranny, 
 
 And Plymouth knew her martyred dead ! 
 
 For what we call our nation's birth 
 Was but the breaking of the form 
 
 That bound us to our natal hearth 
 
 When on us burst the gathering storm ! 
 
 In all their wars with savage foes. 
 
 In all their wars with France as well, 
 
THANKIJSOIVING. 
 
 Our fathers dealt for freedom blows 
 More than a foreign power to quell. 
 
 They had no real king but God, 
 No constitution but the right, 
 
 Although they honored England's rod 
 Till she despised them in her might! 
 
 Then they rebelled, and broke the chain 
 That bound them to their fatherland, 
 
 Declaring they would not remain 
 
 The lion's helpless, pulseless sand, 
 
 But raise instead the eagle's form. 
 
 And with the might of ancient Rome 
 
 Soar high above the threatening storm, 
 And build them freedom's lofty home 
 
 Our fathers rose in manhood's might 
 And said this country should be free, 
 
 No constitution have but right, 
 No king to peril liberty ! 
 
 And forth from Independence Hall 
 
 The old bell rang our nation's birth, 
 
 A startling peal, a martial call 
 
 Before the nations of the earth ! 
 
 And 'twas a martial call indeed. 
 
 For seven long years of bloody strife 
 
 Were followed by that daring deed 
 That ushered in a nation's life! 
 
 And England badly foiled at last 
 Gave honors to her valiant son, 
 
 Acknowledging we had surpassed, 
 And all our freedom bravely won ! 
 
 And alter that Thanksgiving brought 
 A day of which we all were proud. 
 
 Reminding us our fathers fought 
 To soar above a tyrant's cloud ! 
 
 So while the turkey yet we eat, 
 We venerate the eagle more. 
 
 Nor count the dinner quite complete 
 Till we have seen the eagle soar. 
 
 Nor does dread tyranny invade 
 
 The rights so sacred to our dead. 
 
XH A^rvl K iSOI V 1 Nl o. 
 
 For growing liberties pervade 
 
 The sacred soil for which they bled. 
 
 Attd so a nation sits to-day 
 
 As sat the fathers in the east, 
 
 To thank our God, and sing, and pray, 
 Before we eat the nation's feast. 
 
 The thrifty youth is soon a man 
 With many a purpose, many a plan. 
 And like that youth our nation grew 
 To thrift and freedom alwaj^s true. 
 Converting forests into farms, 
 O'er deserts threw her magic charms. 
 She made her prairies fields of grain. 
 And from her rocks wrought out such gain 
 That all she touched she turned to gold, 
 And all she tried so well controlled 
 That all the world looked on to see 
 What mighty marvel next might be! 
 
 Her genius first the steamer made 
 That gave her sons a world of trade. 
 
 From Florida to northern Maine 
 Her coaches are the flying train. 
 
 She took her post-boy from the sky 
 Her hurried messages to fly. 
 
 Her mills and factories are reared 
 Wherever running streams appeared. 
 
 Her farmers reap no more as old 
 With scythe and sickle manifold, 
 But in their chariots reap the grain ; 
 Nor thrash it out with might and main, 
 For thrashers have made rare the flail, 
 The relic of an olden tale. 
 
 Nor may there in her realm be found 
 The man who tills the very ground, 
 Nor will he plow, nor reap, nor sow, 
 As did the fathers years ago. 
 Nor does he live in house so small. 
 Nor make so low the ceiling wall ; — 
 Nor is this man of modern mind 
 Within his father's thoughts confined, 
 For growth without as well has wrought 
 A better growth of brain and thought. 
 
 In building up our native land, 
 We've built an inner temple grand. 
 
THANK^OIVINO. 
 
 A temple in the mental world, 
 And from its dome a flag unfurled 
 Of golden stars in heaven's blue, 
 Which all the world may keep in view. 
 And from its stripes of red and white 
 Learn how as men we may unite 
 To form a mind of many minds, 
 To have one heart of many kinds. 
 To all agree to disagree 
 Within this temple — Liberty. 
 Our home God made with hands divine, 
 And bade his grace within it shine. 
 
 And in this temple large and grand. 
 The glory of our native land, 
 We'll think of all that we have done, 
 Recount the victories we've won, 
 How grown to be this mighty land 
 Which with a giant's living hand 
 Holds on her breast from sea to sea, 
 The children of her liberty. 
 Within this temple we repair 
 To offer our thanksgiving prayer, 
 And under God's beatitude 
 Confess a nation's gratitude. 
 
 Civil strife, that foe relentless. 
 Bloody, cruel and rej^entless, 
 O'er the negro as a chattel 
 Fired the North and South to battle! 
 And the brothers in their anger 
 Met like hostile swords in clangor, 
 Or, like clouds together dashing 
 'Mid their thunder and their flashing! 
 
 Young men from their mothers parted. 
 Old men from their homesteads started. 
 Lovers parted as forever 
 For the war that soon might sever 
 Dearest ties in ruthless faction, 
 In some stubborn, blood}' action! 
 
 Cannon unto cannon thundered. 
 Life by hostile life was plundered. 
 Bombshells on the fields were crashing, 
 Rifles from the armies flashing! 
 
 Death was there, the silent reaper. 
 Claiming every pulseless sleeper 
 
i 1-1 A w k: iso 1 v 1 N c 
 
 In that harvesting of losses, 
 Martyred soldiers on the crosses 
 They were bearing 'gg,inst each other, 
 Brother fighting 'gainst his brother! 
 
 In those days of dark misgiving 
 Sadness draped the year's thanksgiving! 
 Many a household had no father, 
 Many a fireside missed a brother, 
 Many a ladj' had no lover 
 Ere the cruel war was over ; 
 And the dear one's silent places 
 Brought such melancholy faces 
 On Thanksgiving's pensive day-break, 
 That it brought a secret heart-ache 
 In the bosom of the Siother, 
 Of the sister for her brother, 
 Of the father's absent blessing, 
 And the lover's stirring passion ! 
 
 Thougli the sacrifice thej^'d given 
 Almost closed the gates of heaven 
 Earthward, yet they worshipped ever, 
 Thankful for the great forever 
 Hanging o'er them full of blessing, — 
 And their gratitude confessiug * 
 
 Saw their sorrow's silver lining, 
 And the sun of love still shining, 
 For 'twas Lincoln called Thanksgiving 
 To be given for the living. 
 That our country's God was reigning 
 And the government remaining. 
 
 Faith inspired the brave and royal, 
 Moved them to be fully loyal 
 To the country of our fathers. 
 To the land of warring brothers. 
 To the home of plighted lovers, 
 And the cradles of our mothers! 
 
 Mingling tears and fading flowers 
 Measured years, and months, and hours, 
 Ere the absent ones, if living. 
 Joined us in the year's Thanksgiving! 
 
 But at last the war was ended 
 When to God and heaven ascended 
 From the hearts of all then living. 
 One grand chorus of thanksgiving! 
 
T^l-1 AN 1S:SGI"V' ING. 
 
 The centennial noted the ^lee 
 
 Of a nation a hundi-ed-fold free, 
 
 As united our gratitude went 
 
 To the God unto whom we had lent, 
 
 For ovir God had repaid us in gold, 
 
 And had blessed us in ways manifold. 
 
 In the city of brotherly love 
 Both the North and the South looked above. 
 And the blue and the gray were so blent, 
 That a year of thanksgiving was spent 
 As a short summer day glided by 
 When as children the time used to fly, 
 Being lost so completely each day 
 That too short seemed the time fpr the play. 
 
 Times were good, and money flowing. 
 Labor happy, hardly knowing 
 What a boom was on the nation, 
 Reaching to the huml)lest station. 
 
 Times were flush, the well stored table 
 Told us Uncle Sam was able, 
 Nor need any live conniving, 
 Every industry was thriving. 
 
 But those times of milk and honey, 
 War times, golden days of money. 
 Like all other days were numbered ; 
 And, our thrift was being cumbered 
 By a lull that settled o'er us 
 Ushering a storm before us ! 
 
 Then the cry of "hard times" started, 
 Many a rich man's gains departed. 
 While the poor man's wages failing. 
 Want and sacrifice entailing. 
 Brought depression on all faces, 
 Showing on all classes traces 
 Of the business cyclone coming. 
 Of the empty, noisy humming. 
 Of the show of wealth deceiving, 
 Trusting i^arties yet believing 
 Till their confidence was worsted 
 And the empty bubbles bursted ! 
 
 Wrecked were thousands without warning, 
 Rich at night and poor in morning, 
 Rich men fell to daily labor, 
 
THA.'NlvSaiVING 
 
 Neighbor fell beneath his neighbor: 
 Harder grew the times and harder 
 Was it for the poor man's larder, 
 "Wages fell and still were falling, 
 Times were growing more appalling 
 
 "Bees are cross when scarce is honey." 
 So are people withont money. 
 Bees will sting when i^oor the tlowers. 
 So will people with lean hours. 
 
 Harder grew the times, and firmer 
 Rose a growing, smothered murmur 
 All along the hives of labor. 
 Neighbor buzzing it to neighbor. 
 That the rich were deep in plunder, 
 That the poor must break asunder 
 Many bonds of calm subiujssion. 
 And improve their sad condition ! 
 Sure the rich were only scheming, 
 Rich men's losses were but seeming, 
 And the wealthy by their knavery 
 Had reduced them all to slavery! 
 While the rich were growing richer 
 They were sinking like the ditcher! 
 
 Idle drones wei-e steady living. 
 Busy every moment trying 
 To alarm the workers hazy, 
 Saying "Drones no longer lazy 
 **Ask the bees to go a swarming: 
 "Why remain, our master storming 
 "While we're making him no honey, 
 "But consume his time and money?" 
 
 Thus the drones with red flags swinging 
 Buzzed till every hive was ringing, 
 And the bees were crazy, storming 
 To be off and go a swarming! 
 
 So they swarmed with colors Hying 
 Till for shelter they were sighing. 
 Restless with their idle hours. 
 For a drouth had killed the flowers! 
 
 'Gainst the drones with fury warming 
 Every worker home went swarming. 
 Glad again to iret the honey 
 Made when fields were sweet and bonnie ; 
 
THANK5SOIVING. 
 
 And they killed the drones next morning. 
 Posted up this sage-like warning, 
 
 •'Death to drones and their confusion I 
 "Deaths to anarchists' delusion!" 
 
 Like those drones came lazy smokers. 
 Idlers who were fiery croakers, 
 Telling workmen they were starving 
 While the greedy rich were carving 
 Millions from the poor man's earnings 
 And the message went down burning 
 Deep into the workman's musing, 
 How the rich were thus abusing, 
 Those who gave them rank and station,. 
 Bone and sinew of the u*ttion. 
 
 Thousands struck for higher wages, 
 Many in more moderate stages 
 Waiting ere they broke asunder 
 Ties of labor, and the wonder 
 Grew that strikes were less victorious, 
 And their poverty laborious! 
 
 Still, they waited long and bravely 
 Till among them spraug up ,kimvely 
 Socialists their red flags flying. 
 Vengeance on the wealthy crying, 
 Nihilists from Russian valleys, 
 Communists from German alleys, 
 Cranks, and foes to law and order. 
 Armed with dynamite and powder! 
 
 'Twas the anarchists' occasion. 
 And his dynamite persuasion 
 Kang out like the knell of labor! 
 Flashed like treason's bloody saber! 
 
 Then like bees in need of honey 
 People knew the power of money, 
 Saw that wealth is bread and butter, 
 Strikes and boycotts folly utter. 
 Glad tlie blue coats quelled the riot, 
 And the anarchists made quiet. 
 Glad of law and order living, 
 To ensure a good Thanksgiving! 
 
 Thanksgiving-day is here once more 
 Replete with memories of yore, 
 And throbbing with the years gone by^ 
 
TMANJKSOIVINO. 
 
 The checkered year of smile and sigh. 
 
 The winter came with shrouds of white 
 And wrapped the tiowers from our sight ; 
 Nor were they all born of the earth, 
 From tlesh and blood some had their birth, 
 The choicest flowers we ever met, 
 Their names we never shall forget. 
 The spring-tide came with gentle showers 
 Reviving all the early flowers, 
 She set the streams and rivers free, 
 And brought the birds back in their glee. 
 She put such health in many a face 
 That growth and beauty, life, and grace, 
 Adorned the earth on every hand, 
 And promised plenty to the land. 
 Sweet summer kept the promise good, 
 And wrought for us vast stores of food, 
 That ripened in the autumn ray, 
 To make a glad Thanksgiving-day. 
 
 And lo, the land is rife with joy! 
 The stately man acts like a boy. 
 The matron's like a youthful maid. 
 Rejoicing in the plans she's laid 
 To please her husband after kirk. 
 For he shall know it is her work 
 To have the children all at home ; — 
 From far and near they all must come, 
 To thank their God, o'er turkey roast, 
 And with their father drink his toast. 
 
 The service o'er, the mother's seen 
 To head the party as the queen 
 Of all the bounties kept in store 
 The recent twelvemonth less or more. 
 
 Behold the olden table's set,— 
 That table children ne'er forget; — 
 Of course there's turkey done and rare. 
 And 'mong the many viands there 
 We see the choicest pumpkin pie. 
 The dessert in the time gone by 
 When "hoe cake" was the daily bread 
 That flanked the board when grace was said. 
 Nor need I mention more of food 
 So multiform and all so good. 
 
T iri AISI KliJ^Ol VINO. 
 
 And what a sight aroimd that board 
 With viands rare so richly stored ; 
 The father in his stately chair, 
 Itself a good thanksgiving prayer ! 
 The mother near the plate of bread, 
 For she must see that all are fed. 
 The children seated liere and there, 
 Each one witliin his favorite chair, 
 And e'en the place he calls his own, 
 That all the year has looked so lone 
 Till now he fills it with a grace 
 That brings a smile on every face. 
 One thing is plainly to be seen, 
 The mother for the day is queen. 
 And so she plans it year by year 
 To have her family appear 
 At home, to celebrate the day 
 In the accustomed home made way. 
 
 We see her in the church once more 
 As in the happy days of yore, 
 And smile to see her children hear 
 The preacher state the prosperous year 
 That harvests them a hundred fold, 
 And crcwns their industries with gold. 
 
 The day of all the year has come 
 When she can have her children home ; 
 Nor would a wedding com;i more gay, 
 For this is mother's gala day. 
 If she may meet each happy face 
 That in her life will fill the place, 
 The mother holds for every child 
 However rude, however wild ; 
 But if, alas, the vacant chair 
 Is fondly set for one elsewhere,. 
 How very far away he seems. 
 And how of him come troubled dreams 
 That to the mother seem to say, 
 That he has gone away to stay ! 
 
 And others she will ne'er forget, 
 For these the vacant chairs are set 
 Around her heart, if not her board, 
 Departed ones she has deplored; 
 And all invisible they come 
 Like angels to their childhood home, 
 
i Jrl AISI KliSOl VI NO. 
 
 And seem to si>eak as do the rest 
 In living presence their behest. 
 
 And so those in the spirit land, 
 Around the table seem to stand, 
 And join us in our gratitude, 
 A pure and countless multitude. 
 
 The dinner ended, all appear 
 In happy converse on the year, 
 Nor stop with talking of the crops, 
 The factories, the mills, the shops, 
 Elections, cliurches, and the schools, 
 Departing from the olden rules. 
 But speak of what the j^ear has taught, 
 And what by science has been wrought, 
 What victory of shop or farm, 
 Has given life another charm ; 
 And so they pass the annual arch 
 Of the republic in its march. 
 
 'Tis well, give thanks, and then repair 
 To occupy the vacant chair 
 Set by the hand that loves you best. 
 And eat with joy the nation's feast. 
 
V