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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." Louisa May Alcott Louisa May Alcott's other poems:
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