Day of Thanksgiving

It’s the day of Thanksgiving,
And here, now, I stand,
On this bridge o’er the city
And raise my right hand.

I salute the tall towers
That swiftly arise
To twinkle with sun in
Their thousand of eyes!

I salute the fast cars there
That zip left and right,
And the boats down below me
In white-wake delight.

All the motors within them,
The wires and the oil,
Tell of men who have won them
The fruits of their toil.

Their grand purpose, sound passion,
All ’round me I feel—
Warm man-lifted energy,
Fierce working ideal.

May the pride of men’s power—
Its lone dream and lone thought—
Be as fire in them ever
For light they have brought.

They have quickened with deft hands
Earth’s rocks and earth’s dust,
And have stirred in their knowledge
For them and for us.

They have visioned and fashioned
A world of great things,
So that man, from slow walking,
Now sweeps forth on wings.

They have made men more healthy,
And lengthened their days;
They have given life beauty
With songs that amaze.

They have made our flesh useful,
Giv’n fingers command;
With push of a button
We may leap-frog a land.

They have made us the masters
Of nature and fate;
We are doers, not done to—
Individuals great.

I salute you, each one of you,
Who works out his will
To make here the height of you
Grasp higher still.

I salute you, I, rational,
Who brand what I own
With the gold of my ego
That’s night never known.

Now may profits o’er-whelm us,
Deep thanks touch our souls,
Who have spent what was in us
To climb to our goals.

For there’s nothing on land now,
On sea or in sky,
That without man the thinker
Can set him so high.

From far, grim beginnings,
To present-day cheer,
It’s the thinker who’s winning;
Thank Man he’s still here!

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