Then – I hope you will ask someone to stand and read “Pilgrim Fathers” during your Thanksgiving meal. –
The second harvest gathered since they crossed Atlantic waters,
A feast of thankfulness was set by grateful Pilgrim Fathers:
So great the providence of God, so blest with fruit their labors,
So sweet the bond among their band, such peace with Indian neighbors.
But most among the feasting crowd could count harsh years of toil.
Of wand’ring for their faith in God, of want on alien soil,
Of flagging hopes and faith, bad health, of chills that hell could send.
Of half their number that had died before first winter’s end.
Of hunger pangs that second year in their New Plymouth home,
Of weeks when all they ate a day was five small grains of corn.
A few remembered treasures lost, titles cast aside,
But all could measure conscience cost in tears and trampled pride.
Oh, at this feast could they foresee their blessed future years?
That nevermore would they now want, nor run from any fears!
Then after prayers of gratitude, before the feast was set,
Each plate was served five grains of corn, lest anyone forget!
A noble band in hardship born, rejected by their own,
A rock flung o’re the ocean, they were laid a corner stone.
By them God stamped His pattern for a nation on the land,
And seeds for freedom under God were planted by their hand.
Oh, pray their heirs would ever know how dear was freedom’s cost,
And know to hold their faith and freedom dear, or see them lost,
And praise the Providence that brought those Pilgrims to this shore,
And eat the grains of memory, or pay the price once more.