Come, ye thankful people, come; raise the song of harvest home
Grandma passed wild turkey and quail and yams and mashed potatoes and green beans and salads and relishes and bread and rolls and buns around and around the table. Anna made the gravy, and don’t forget the jam, now.
All is safely gathered in, ere the winter storms begin
Sears toy catalogs were stacked thick on the folding chair to give my little self a boost and I tucked my legs under me to reach the pickles, elbowing Uncle John for just a bit more room at the table.
God our Maker doth provide for our wants to be supplied
The years pass but the mercies never cease being new and the grace is always sufficient and my heart ever more gives thanks.
Come to God’s own temple, come, raise the song of harvest home
It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without the Doxology but I can hardly get through even typing it without tears. So pick a part and sing along, will you?
Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise Him all creatures here below
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost