Poem by Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888)

 

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Summer Days Are Over


        "Summer days are over,
        Summer work is done;
        Harvests have been gathered
        Gayly one by one.
        Now the feast is eaten,
        Finished is the play;
        But one rite remains for
        Our Thanksgiving-day.

        "Best of all the harvest
        In the dear God's sight,
        Are the happy children
        In the home to-night;
        And we come to offer
        Thanks where thanks are due,
        With grateful hearts and voices,
        Father, mother, unto you."


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Written on 2024-05-06 at 00:58

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