Pilgrim Mother Speaks

Mercy, help thy brother, child.

Bring wood for the hearth’s bright blaze,

And heed thee that thee do not tip

That bowl of sun-dried maize.

Patience, stir the bubbling broth,

Take care with the heavy ladle,

And when thee has stirred the pot

Rock the baby’s cradle.

Prudence, benches thee must dust,

And scrub the table board,

For tomorrow we will give

Our thanks unto the Lord.

All must be in readiness,

So be not idle, nor at play,

For hands and hearts and thoughts all make

A glad Thanksgiving Day.