How glorious Your paint box, Lord,
and the copper, gold, rust and amber You color Your creation.
I listen to the crunch of an apple and hear the music of autumn.
O, taste and see.
How innumerable the seeds in a pumpkin,
as wondrous as Your thoughts.
But why do I never notice Your acorns until they fall from the tree?
Marching bands, homecoming floats, tail-gating picnics and touchdowns,
we give thanks for these.
The last of the corn and the first frost,
they come with the harvest moon.
But guard us, Lord, from the first cough and the first cold.
For your mercies extend farther than any shooting star that drops from the sky.
We dig out our woolens and parkas and warm up by the fire.
Soon with turkey and stuffing and the sweetest yams,
–Rick Hamlin, Guideposts executive editor
we will give our best Thanksgiving to You.