1. Keep a lookout for the current Thanksgiving Day proclamation of the President. Read it with those of Washington and Roosevelt, and contrast the three, as to style of writing and historical facts mentioned.
The God of harvest praise; In loud thanksgiving raise Hand, heart, and voice. The valleys laugh and sing, Forests and mountains ring, 5 The plains their tribute bring, The streams rejoice.
Yes, bless His holy name, And joyous thanks proclaim Through all the earth. 10 To glory in your lot Is comely; but be not God's benefits forgot Amid your mirth.
The God of harvest praise; 15 Hands, hearts, and voices raise, With sweet accord. From field to garner throng, Bearing your sheaves along, And in your harvest song 20 Bless ye the Lord.
1. Sing these three stanzas to the tune of _America_.
3. Search for a Thanksgiving story in current newspapers and magazines or in books. Read it and report on your story in class.
Old Scrooge was a rich and grasping business man; Bob Cratchit was his underpaid and overworked clerk. On Christmas Eve three spirits in succession appeared to Scrooge: Christmas Past, Christmas Present, and Christmas Yet-to-Come. The second showed him, with other visions, this Christmas feast in Cratchit's home. The lessons the spirits taught him so influenced Scrooge that he set out early next morning to spend a real Christmas; and he was a changed man ever after.
Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; 5 while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired and yearned to show his 10 linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion these young Cratchits danced about the table 15 and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to be let out and peeled.