Thanksgiving Hymn 1943

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Photo courtesy Design pics Inc./?Craig Tuttle

Another year grows calmly old
And frost is on the morning grass;
The quaking asp has shed its gold’
The mountain lakes lie still as glass.
The fields, their summer labor done,
Sleep in the quiet autumn sun
And the high hills in grave accord
Lift up their heads and thank the Lord.

Nature’s great calmness seems to mock.
The world’s at war; our boys are gone
Far off where furious armies shock
In many a bloody battle dawn.
Yet though our nation grimly fights,
This year, to save her ancient rights
At least she wields a mighty sword
And for that we thank the Lord.

Safety is ours though peace is lost.
Our cities know no thundering raid;
Fields know no enemy but frost;
The children play, still unafraid.
The planes that drone across our sky
Are friendly sentries standing by
That no invading robber horde
Shall waste our land, so thank the Lord.

For harvest from the fields we’ve sown,
For freedom and for righteous laws,
For fighting power to guard our own
And help our helpless neighbor’s cause.
For Victory’s slowly dawning light?—
And dawn it must if right is right?—
Gather once more around the board,
This fateful year, and thank the Lord.

 

Thanksgiving Hymn 1943 was originally published in the Custer County Chronicle Nov. 25, 1943. Reprinted with the permission of Shebby Lee, President of the Badger Clark Memorial Society and the great-great niece of the poet

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