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We think of Thanksgiving in harvest time-- In the yielding, gathering golden time; When the sky is fringed with a hazy mist, And the blushing maples by frost lip kissed; When the barns are full with the harvest cheer, And the crowning, thankful day draws near. We think of Thanksgiving at resting time-- The circle completed is but a chime In the song of life, in the lives of men; We harvest the toils of our years, and then We wait at the gate of the King's highway, For the dawn of our soul's Thanksgiving Day. - [Thanksgiving Day] Curfew must not ring to-night. - Curfew Must not Ring To-Night, title of poem [Bells]
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