Iron County news. [volume] (Hurley, Wis.) 1913-1950, 1917-11-24
As SUNG BY POETS
Old and New Thanksgiving
Sentiments Worth
Recording.

Recording.
~ ABINDRANATH TAGORE, the
~ Hindu-English poet, recently
N contributed to the London
Times the following verses on
Thanksgiving" which are as unlike
the conventional Thanksgiving poem
in sentiment as they are in form:
Those who walk on the path Of pride
crushing the lowly life under their tread,
spreading their footprints in blood
upon the tender green of thy earth
Let them rejoice, and thank thee, Lord,
for the day is theirs.
But thou hast done we'll in leaving me
with the humble
whose doom it is TO suffer
and bear the burden Of power.
and hide their faces and stide their sobs
in the dark.
For every throb of their pain
has pulsed in the secret depth of thy
night.
and every insult has been gathered
in thy great silence.
And the morrow is theirs
Sun, rise upon the bleeding hearts
blossoming in flowers of the morning
and the torchlight revelry Of pride
hiding in its own aisles!
There is, of course, nothing new in
dissent from that Snug piety that re-
turns thanks because its possessor is
mot as other men are" be it in world
ly possessions, in bodily health, in
mental equipment or even in moral
inheritance. Robert Burns long ago
satirized one aspect of such self-com-
placence in THE Selkirk Grace:
Some haze meat and Gamma eat.
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat,
And sac the Lord be thankit
William Blake, in one Of those
quantity phrased little poems of his
that have almost the flavor of esoteric
wisdom, declares:
Since all the riches of this world
May be gifts from the devil and earthly
kings,
should suspect that I worshiped the
devil
II l thanked my God for worldly things.
The countless gold of a merry heart,
The rubles and pearls of loving eye,
The ideal man never can bring to the
mart,
Nor the cunning hoard up in his treas
ury.
And in recent years Edmund Vance
Cooke, poet of whom Cleveland, the
sixth city," should be proud, has
sung;
We thank thee. Yea. in the even tone
OF those who are glad of the goods they
We thank thee. Yea, that thou hast pre-
ferred
And blessed us more than the common
herd
We thank thee, part with the hearts in
tention,
But most. let US own. with the lips con-
Vention
Eve thank thee" Lord! What a selfish
prayer
Thanks-while a beggar's breast is bare
Thanks that our own full feast is spread
While another creature is lacking bread
Thanks that our full fed blood runs warm
| While a starveling baby breasts the
STORM
There is certainly no faint Of Tar
tuffe or Pecksniff in the reason that
William Ernest Henley gives fol
thankfulness in his "Invictus," but Il
has something of pharisaical AFRO
galce notwithstanding
Out of the night that covers me.
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
! For my uncomfortable soul
Algernon Charles Swinburne, II
"The Garden of Proserpine" (from
which, by the way, Henley seems t
have borrowed his whatever god,
may be"), expresses a sentiment thai
| in certain moods has an appeal t
many men:
From too much love of living,
| from hope and fear set free
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever.
That dead men rise up never.
| That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
| But, after ALL there is a healthier
appeal than Swinburnes, and an ap
/ peal to a greater number of norma
men and women. in such fine odes az
I that which the late Hezekiah Butter
worth wrote in celebration of the frs
Thanksgiving in Boston Harbor":
| The Arabena leads the song
/ The Mayfiower sings below.
I That erst the Pilgrims bore along
The RlymoGrh reefs Of snow.
/ On. never De that psalm forgot
That rose Ger Boston Bay.
/ When Winthrop sang. and Endicod
And sSltonstau that day:
Praise re 9he LORD with fervent hpsT
Praise We the Lord today"
/ And p.ssse arose from all the ssaps
Like prayers in Yarmouth Bag.