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There was food, also, for the exhausted guests, though the refection was slight and served informally in the kitchen corner, for the ceremonial Thanksgiving dinner was to be deferred till after the wedding.
Keep quiet and say one's prayers certainly not merely the best, but the only things to do if one would be truly happy; but, ashamed of asking when I have received so much, the only form of prayer I would use would be a form of thanksgiving. September
There had been Thanksgiving dinner with Mrs. Ray, an Amazonian feast since all their lords were still away on service, and Sandy Ray and Billy, Jr., were perhaps too young to count.
Alone in the dusky church, the curate's ascended like a song of the angels, for his heart was all a thanksgiving not for any perfected gift, but for many a lovely hope. He knelt down by the organ and worshipped the God and Father of the Lord Jesus Christ that God and no other was the God of his expectation.
It was about a week after Thanksgiving, and Bert and Nan were on their way home from school one day, when, as they passed a red brick house on the street next to theirs, they saw, standing on the porch, a pleasant- faced, elderly lady who was looking up and down the avenue. "That's Miss Pompret," said Nan to Bert. "I heard mother say she was very rich." "Is she?" asked Bert.
Through music they approached the unseen King of kings with the plaintive outpourings of their grief-laden hearts and with their joyful hymns of praise and thanksgiving. From the polished Greeks we gained a basis for the scientific laws governing our musical art. The splendid music of which we read in ancient writings has for the most part vanished with the lives it enriched.
"It will spoil her feast. Derry Drake is coming to dinner." "The robber " "Do you really feel that way about it?" "I don't know how I feel." He rose and went to the window. "It's a rotten morning." "It is Thanksgiving." "I haven't much to be thankful for," moodily. "I am, you tell me, about to lose my daughter. I am, also, it would seem, to part company with my best nurse." "Hilda?" "Yes.
His mother, noticing this, said: "Why, Oscar, I thought you and Frank were good friends, and I should suppose you would be willing to relieve him a few days. The poor boy has been away from his mother nearly a year, and it is natural that he should want to go home and spend Thanksgiving.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, a genuine product of Puritanism, inherited a full share of his forefathers' constitutional melancholy and preoccupation with the darker aspects of life as this story bears witness. On the evening of Thanksgiving Day, John Inglefield, the blacksmith, sat in his elbow-chair among those who had been keeping festival at his board.
After supper, all the party sang a hymn, led by Laban Ragget, and very sweet and solemn were the notes as they burst through the night air, and echoed among those rocks, never before, too probably, awakened to sounds of praise and thanksgiving. "It's an old custom of mine," said Laban to me, "when I cannot expound to my family, or hold forth in prayer as usual.
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