There's nothing, did you say, Reuben?
There's nothing, nothing at all,
There's nothing to thank the Lord for
This disappointing fall.
For the frost it cut your corn down,
Right when 'twas looking best,
And then took half the garden,-
The drouth took all the rest.
The wheat was light as light could be,
Not half a proper crop,
Then the fire burned your fences,
And burned till it had to stop.
The cows were poor because the grass
Withered all up in the heat,
And cows are things that won't keep fat
Unless they have plenty to eat.
Suppose the frost did take the corn,
And the cattle are not fat,
Another harvest is coming--
You might thank the Lord for that.
The fire that burned your fences down,
And laid your haystacks flat,
Left the old house above your head,
You might thank the Lord for that.
You've lost from field, and barn, and fold,
You've that word 'loss' very pat,
But you've lost nothing from the home,-
You might thank the Lord for that.
And here is your mother at your side,
Braiding a beautiful mat,
I'm old, my boy, but with you yet-
You might thank the Lord for that.
Your wife is a good and patient soul,
Not given to worry or spat,
Nice to see, and pleasant to hear,
You might thank the Lord for that.
Here in the cradle at my side
Is something worth looking at,
She came this disappointing year,
You might thank the Lord for that.
Your boy is calling out, 'Daddy!'
As hard as ever he can,
There's lots of folks would thank the Lord
For just such a bonnie man.
Ashamed of yourself, eh, Reuben?
Well, I rather thought you'd be-
What! going to keep Thanksgiving
In a manner good to see?
To kill the biggest gobbler
That's strutting round the farm?
To give poor folks provisions,
And clothes to keep them warm?
You're going to help and comfort
Each sad old wight you find?
You're feeling so rich and thankful,
And heaven has been so kind?
Ah, now my own boy, Reuben,
I'm so glad we've had this chat,
You're growing so like your father-
You might thank the Lord for that.