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Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board The old broken links of affection restored, When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before. What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?
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For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'
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All else is gone; from those great eyes The soul has fled:...
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'I'm sorry that I spelt the word: I hate to go above you,...
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Oh, for boyhood's painless play, sleep that wakes in laughing day, health that mocks the doctor's rules, knowledge never learned of schools.
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