The year decays, November's blast
Through leafless boughs pipes shrill and drear;
With warmer love the home clasps fast
The hands, the hearts, the friends most dear.
On many seas men sail the fleet
Of hopes as fruitless as the foam;
They roam the world with restless feet,
But find no sweeter spot than home.

Today with quickened hearts they hear
Old times, old voices chime and call;
The dreams of many a vanished year
Sit by them at this festival.
Though hearts that warmed them once are cold,
Though heads are hoar with winter frost
That once were bright with tangled gold —
Thanks for the blessings kept or lost.

Thanks for the strong, free wind of life,
However it change or veer;
For the love of mother and sister and wife;
Clear starts that to haven steer;
For the quenchless lamps of changeless love
That burn in the night of the dead;
For the life that is, for the hope above,
Be thanksgiving by all hearts said.