Was heaped in the colony cabins; brown home-brewed served for wine;

And the plum and the grape of the forest for orange and peach and pine.

At length came the day appointed. The snow had begun to fall,

But the clang from the meeting-house belfry rang merrily

out for all,

And summoned the folk of Plymouth, who hastened with glad accord

To listen to Elder Brewster as he fervently thanked the Lord.

In his seat sat Governor Bradford; men, matrons, and maidens fair,

Miles Standish and all his soldiers, with corslet and sword, were there;

And sobbing and tears and gladness had each in its turn the sway,

For the grave of the sweet Rose Standish o'ershadowed Thanksgiving Day.

And when Massasoit, the Sachem, sat down with his hundred braves,

And ate of the varied riches of gardens and woods and

waves,

And looked on the granaried harvest, — with a blow ɔn his brawny chest,

He muttered, "The good Great Spirit loves His white children best."

And then, as the feast was ended, with gravely official air,

The Governor drew his broadsword out from its scabbard

there,

And smiting the trencher near him, he cried in heroic

way,

"Hail, Pie of the Pumpkin! I dub thee Prince of Thanksgiving Day!"

YOU AND I

CHARLES MACKAY

Charles Mackay, a Scotch poet, has written many poems that teach a most wholesome lesson. His poems show his deep sympathy with all that is best in human nature and a corresponding contempt for what is selfish and mean. Among his short poems are "The Vicar's Sermon," ," "The Good Time Coming," ," "What Might be Done," "Daily Work," "Little and Great," and many others of a similar character.

HO would scorn his humble fellow

WHO

For the coat he wears?

For the poverty he suffers?

For his daily cares?

Who would pass him in the footway

With averted eye?

Would you, brother? No you would not.

Who, when vice or crime repentant,

With a grief sincere,

Asked for pardon, would refuse it

More than Heaven severe ?

Who, to erring woman's sorrow,

Would with taunts reply?

Would you, brother? No-you would not.

Would you, brother? No-you would not. not I.

If you would.

Who would lend his arm to strengthen

Warfare with the right?

Who would give his pen to blacken

Freedom's page of light?

Who would lend his tongue to utter

Praise of tyranny?

Would you, brother? No-you would not. If you would not I.

DAILY WORK

CHARLES MACKAY

WHO lags from dread of daily work,

And his appointed task would shirk,

Commits a folly and a crime:

A soulless slave

A paltry knave

A clog upon the wheels of time, With work to do, and store of health, The man's unworthy to be free, Who will not give,

That he may live,

His daily toil for daily fee.

No! Let us work! We only ask
Reward proportion'd to our task;
We have no quarrel with the great-
No feud with rank-

With mill or bank.

No envy of a lord's estate.
If we can earn sufficient store

To satisfy our daily need,
And can retain,

For age and pain,

A fraction, we are rich indeed.

No dread of toil have we or ours;

We know our worth, and weigh our powers;

The more we work, the more we win;

Success to trade!

Success to spade!

And to the corn that's coming in.
And joy to him who o'er his task,
Remembers toil is Nature's plan;
Who, working, thinks,
And never sinks

His independence as a man!

Who only asks for humblest wealth,
Enough for competence and health,
And leisure, when his work is done
To read his book,

By chimney nook,

Or stroll at setting of the sun Who toils as every man should toil, For fair reward, erect and free; These are the men

The best of men

These are the men we mean to be.

LITTLE AND GREAT

CHARLES MACKAY

A TRAVELER, through a dusty road,

Strewed acorns on the lea;

And one took root and sprouted up,

And grew into a tree.

Love sought its shade at evening time,

To breathe its early vows;

And Age was pleased, in heats of noon,

To bask beneath its boughs.