He build my feet, an' He fix de signs Dat de shoe hit pinch an' de shoe hit bines Ef I on'y w'ah eights an-a wanter w'ah nines; I hone fo' de rain, an' de sun hit shines, An' whilse I hunt de sun, hits de rain I fines.-- O-a trim my lamp, an-a gyrd my lines! O de cross-bearin' chile-- De cross-bearin' chile! I wade de wet, an' I walk de dry: I done tromp long, an' I done clim high; An' I pilgrim on ter de jasper sky, An' I taken de resk fo' ter cas' my eye Wha' de Gate swing wide an' de Lord draw nigh, An' de Trump hit blow, an' I hear de cry,-- "You lay dat cross down by an' by!-- O de Cross-bearin' Chile-- Do Cross-bearin' Chile!" THANKSGIVING. Let us be thankful--not only because Since last our universal thanks were told We have grown greater in the world's applause, And fortune's newer smiles surpass the old-- But thankful for all things that come as alms From out the open hand of Providence:-- The winter clouds and storms---the summer calms-- The sleepless dread--the drowse of indolence. Let us be thankful--thankful for the prayers Whose gracious answers were long, long delayed, That they might fall upon us unawares, And bless us, as in greater need, we prayed. Let us be thankful for the loyal hand That love held out in welcome to our own, When love and only love could understand The need of touches we had never known. Let us be thankful for the longing eyes That gave their secret to us as they wept, Yet in return found, with a sweet surprise, Love's touch upon their lids, and, smiling, slept. And let us, too, be thankful that the tears Of sorrow have not all been drained away, That through them still, for all the coming years, We may look on the dead face of To-day. AUTUMN. As a harvester, at dusk, Faring down some woody trail Leading homeward through the musk Of may-apple and pawpaw, Hazel-bush, and spice and haw,-- So comes Autumn, swart and hale, Drooped of frame and slow of stride. But withal an air of pride Looming up in stature far Higher than his shoulders are; Weary both in arm and limb, Yet the wholesome heart of him Sheer at rest and satisfied. Greet him as with glee of drums And glad cymbals, as he comes! Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine. He the Emperor--the King-- Royal lord of everything Sagging Plenty's granary floors And out-bulging all her doors; He the god of corn and wine, Honey, milk, and fruit and oil-- Lord of feast, as lord of toil-- Jocund host of yours and mine!