Poem by Louisa May Alcott

* * *

"Summer days are over,
Summer work is done;
Harvests have been gathered
Gayly one by one.
Now the feast is eaten,
Finished is the play;
But one rite remains for
Our Thanksgiving-day.

"Best of all the harvest
In the dear God's sight,
Are the happy children
In the home to-night;
And we come to offer
Thanks where thanks are due,
With grateful hearts and voices,
Father, mother, unto you."

1. Beds to the Front of Them
2. Our Little Ghost
3. He That Is Down Need Fear No Fall
4. Hello! Hello!
5. In the Garret

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