Twice-a-week plain dealer. (Cresco, Howard County, Iowa) 1895-1913, 1898-11-22

Baptized In blood at Lexington, the nation
calls 1t blest,
1t DROPS not to foreign foe, 1t owns no
kings behest;
Its stars reflect new glory underneath the
autumn sky,
Its welded stripes of white and red wide
to the breezes fly;
NO more the crimson river rolls between
the Blue and Gray,
And all the people celebrate the lands
Thanksgiving day.
The harvest song still fingers where the
golden waters rum
Through far Dakota's acres to the seas Of
endless sun,
The cities TEEN with labor for the work
mans eager hand,
our granaries groan with richest store no
hunger in the land:
The cotter's little family on the rugged
mountain side
Takes up the song of plenty till 1t echoes
far and wide,
And we send across the pillows az thew
ceaseless rise and fall
This message to the nations: eve have
food enough for alli'
God smiles upon the nation that has set a
people free,
We worship but at freedoms shrine from
surging sea to sea-
The boy who drives the cattle home across
the mesa bare
Looks up with pride nor feels ashamed be-
side the rich mans heir;
Our navies ride the oceans with our starry
flag unfurl'd.
Our traders bear their cargoes to the tar-
bors of the world;
Aye, back to US from lands as fair and dis
tant as Cathay
Come argosies that help to crown this p1ad
Thanksgiving day.
Old Glory proudly waves to-day DER battle
fields afar,
The foreign foe hath humbled been beneath
the clouds of war;
Aye, every star that dots our flag upon the
land and main
Recounts the story of the men who crushed
the might of Spain;
NO longer ride her boosted fleets, no longer
flash their guns,
The seal OF silence hath been placed on
them by Freedoms sons;
With victory on our banners fair we CRATE
full kneel and pray,
And thank the watchful Father for this
proud Thanksgiving day.
There's plenty in the southland where In
white the cotton blows,
There's plenty In the northland meath
katahdins crest of SHOWS,
The east has heard the reaper's song DER
countless fields of grain,
The golden corn has gathered been on
many a western plain;
The winter has no terrors for the land we
dearly love,
The skies that promise happy times are
blue and bright above;
Our nation In its splendor can take UP the
glad refrain:
% Father, Thou hast blessed US. Let
Thanksgiving come againw
We've seen the years fall from His hand
like leaflets in the void,
Inc crown He's set upon our land is har-
vests crown of gold;
The anthems OF Thanksgiving, rising high
tWiXt sea and sea,
| Stir every heart that beats beneath the
banner of the free:
| In the turmoil of the battle we were horn
to bless the world,
| Our fathers on historic fields our match.
less flag unfurl'd;
with five and forty stars to light to greater
deeds the way,
We as nation celebrate this glad Thanks
giving day.
o bells that tell the story of our country's
rise TO fame,
KING out the paeans Of glory meath the
nag we love to name:
| With plenty all around we can lift the low
| full strain,
And the harvest song is echoed in the ma
tons heart again;
Let the benedtction sweeping Ger the land
from shore to shore
Shake the mountains with the chorus:
Praise the Lord forevermore!
Praise our Father for His goodness, reach
ing far from sea to sea,
ne mas blessed US as nation: He has made
and kept US free!'
T. c. HARBAUGH.