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Along the hills that autumn's grace Hath lit with sudden tints of flame, One comes, with sweet, uplifted face, Singing her praises to His name, Whose hand the ready blessings heap, Whose endless love a world doth keep. A spirit of thanksgiving born Of grateful people, blessed of God, Whose barns He fills with golden corn; Whose level fields of lifeless sod, His sunshine and His fragrant rains, Have quickened into fruitful plains. E'en should the angry clouds uplift Dark faces on the trembling days, The seeming ill is yet God's gift; Out of the shadows lift His praise. Calm as the child who, smiling, hears The footsteps of advancing years. - [Thanksgiving Day]
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