Oh ye, whose homes are warm and bright,
With plenty smiling at the board,
Remember those whose roofs to-night,
Nor warmth, nor light, nor food afford,
Still make those wants, and woes your care,
And let the poor your bounty share.

For yet our hills and lakes along
Echoes the herald angels' song,--
Peace and good will!--oh look abroad,--
In every nation, tribe, and clan,
Behold the brotherhood of man,--
Behold the Fatherhood of God!

Peace to our mountains and our hills,--
Peace to our rivers and our rills;--
Our young Dominion takes her place
Among the nations west and east,--
God send her length of happy days,
And years of plenty and of peace!




THANKSGIVING.


The Autumn hills are golden at the top,
And rounded as a poet's silver rhyme;
The mellow days are ruby ripe, that drop