 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The National Thanksgiving
The harvests with abundance fill the land,And call for gratitude and festive song;
And industry revives on every hand,
Which from war's wasteful scourge has suffered long.
And fell disease, that wasted day by day,
Is checked and staid, confined to narrow bound;
That else might thousands and ten thousands slay,
And desolate a fertile region round!
Our fathers' God! who, in their sore distress,
Did'st save from famine and from dangers dire,
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Our hearts with praise and gratitude inspire,
For all thy mercies to our fathers shown,
And for unnumbered blessings all our own.
Poem No. 507; c. 27 November 1879
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |