On Thanksgiving Day

On Thanksgiving Day let all glad men profess
To be thankful for happiest happiness,
To be thankful for that which comes from high pride
To he who has welcomed bright day on his side.

The free air of honesty, fresh and sincere,
The sunrise of actions led open and clear,
The blazed independence of pathways new made
For dreams of the spirit that dares, unafraid—

Yes, these are the virtues that lift happiness
To light up the eyes with a loving caress,
A touch of the glory-of-being on they
Who straddle the barriers placed in their way,

That flows as a blessing on ends just begun,
On those who began them and those who have won,
That sees each creator as brother and friend
And celebrates all who strive on without end.

This happiest happiness, it must be earned,
And Thanksgiving Day is for they who have learned
That heights of production are glad hills to climb,
No matter if knolls or iced mountains sublime!

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Oh, Thankful I Am

Oh, thankful I am for men and women living
Who to themselves know they owe their Thanksgiving;
For they’ve worked hard to make their lives complete
With eyes and hands obeying mental heat—
That furnace of their independent thought
In which the girders of their goals are wrought.
They’re stood up straight—the I-beams of tomorrows—
That rise and rise in pride above all sorrows.
A-gleam with dreams of yesterdays they climb
Up singular, nor need support of brothers,
Or groups or clans or state, or any others!
They answer calls of time with acts sublime.
Oh thankful I am for men and women living
Who to themselves know they owe their Thanksgiving!

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Thanksgiving Day Blessings

High praise to producers I’m singing today,
High praise for their courses they steadily stay—
Who fashion the fine things by which I do live
And set out to trade and, no, never to give.

Great praise to their effort and thoughtful good sense,
Sure-guided by judgment and hard evidence,
With firm moral strength to do everything right
And push themselves upward to profit’s glad height.

My high praise my great praise, so true in me, strong,
Fills all of my being, bursts out in pure song!
Straight-shooting producers, now stand you up proud,
receive my life’s blessings with heads all unbowed!

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Morning

A couple of blocks away the low, steady, metallic roar of a train of empty boxcars hurls into the dawn. The prelude sun is late; the symphony begun.

Now winds rouse; a storm comes from the west. Small drops of rain ping the windowpane. Again the sun is beat. Early winter would laugh if it could. I do.

In the drama of living there’s always something new and song springs to mind and lips and pen as paper wings turn inky black. I flap another on the stack.

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Gladness and Glory

Was time for the Fabulous Feast, it was,
When all of the hunters and farmers about
Brought in their turkeys, chickens and doves,
And the elk and the deer were cooking up fine.
There were beans and berries and beer and wine,
And the children played, and danced and ran,
And the men and the women, they danced, too,
Till they sat to eat and drink their brew.

Then Hrothgar stood, the head man, he,
And spoke of the glory of being free.
“We’ve built a town outside the state,
Where men are free to come and go,
To live their lives as they decree,
To speak their minds, say ‘Yes’ or ‘No';
Where each man does his work his best
To profit him the most he can
And fear no gods of east or west.
For freedom is a precious thing;
We celebrate each man as king;
We celebrate queen woman, too,
And praise the work we’ve done
To make our dreams come true!
Now sing, who want to, speak who can,
Around the table, left to right,
And through your mouths the soul of man
Will rise in triumph, ring with might!”

Then songs and speeches filled the air
One after one, brave and fair.
Some spoke of toil hour on hour
Till a thing well done was in their power.
Others sang love songs and lullabies,
And one said a bull sold for very high price,
While ion between speeches and songs sung well
A chattering gladness did lift and swell.

Then up again stood Hrothgar to say,
“Our Fabulous Feast is almost through,
So one dear wish I warmly make.
On all the best in each one of you
May dawn with gladness and glory break.”
All then stood as the pipers piped
And hugged their friends and spoke and kissed,
Adjusted all their crowns of gold
And strolled away in the evening mist.

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Thinking of Robert LeChevalier

Who fights on to the very end
And does not pause, complain or bend,
But all his spirit sings a cheer
That he’s alive and he is here,
Wins every laurel, every prize,
While fated time-of-dying dies.
His quality of life is more
Than onward days that run before;
His high grade gold is his to mold,
And spending all he ne’er grows old.
His youth is his, as is his pride;
Stamped on his tombstone: UNDENIED!

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On The Death of Robert LeChevalier

For Robert LeChevalier,
His life was always his way,
Good science was his highway,
Accomplishment his aim.

With love-of-truth kept young so
His steps of joy, they sprung so
All beauty rang and sung, oh,
So loud with Robb’s dear name

That echoes now still vibrate
With his own will’s great mandate:
“My life and love are my date,
And time is my own flame!”

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