There’s much on this Thanksgiving we should be thankful for, although we are now living beneath the shade of war. Though we may push the dagger in foemen to the hilt when from the scrap we stagger, there’ll be no sense of guilt. We did not start to scatter the blood around in showers, no treaties did we shatter, the rough-house is not ours. The trouble we evaded so long the neighbors cried that dollar lust had faded our courage and our pride. Not to impose our culture on other nations’ schools do we ply catapult or other deadly tools. Not that our bounds may widen to take in our neighbors’ lands do we go to war ridin’ with pitchforks in our hands. Not that our hearts are burning with hate for Wilhelm’s hordes do we begin a-turning our stovehooks into swords. When peace is again reigning, and seems as good as new, there will be no shamed explaining for Uncle Sam to do. No words need then be spoken, in Uncle Sam’s defense; he has no pledges broken, in spirit or in sense. For this we should be grateful, whle smiling cooks produce the large and brimming plateful of turkey, duck or goose.
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Thanksgiving in North Carolina, Living in the 'Shade' of War, 1917
From
the News and Observer, Raleigh, as
reprinted in the Watauga Democrat, November 22, 1917
There’s much on this Thanksgiving we should be thankful for, although we are now living beneath the shade of war. Though we may push the dagger in foemen to the hilt when from the scrap we stagger, there’ll be no sense of guilt. We did not start to scatter the blood around in showers, no treaties did we shatter, the rough-house is not ours. The trouble we evaded so long the neighbors cried that dollar lust had faded our courage and our pride. Not to impose our culture on other nations’ schools do we ply catapult or other deadly tools. Not that our bounds may widen to take in our neighbors’ lands do we go to war ridin’ with pitchforks in our hands. Not that our hearts are burning with hate for Wilhelm’s hordes do we begin a-turning our stovehooks into swords. When peace is again reigning, and seems as good as new, there will be no shamed explaining for Uncle Sam to do. No words need then be spoken, in Uncle Sam’s defense; he has no pledges broken, in spirit or in sense. For this we should be grateful, whle smiling cooks produce the large and brimming plateful of turkey, duck or goose.
There’s much on this Thanksgiving we should be thankful for, although we are now living beneath the shade of war. Though we may push the dagger in foemen to the hilt when from the scrap we stagger, there’ll be no sense of guilt. We did not start to scatter the blood around in showers, no treaties did we shatter, the rough-house is not ours. The trouble we evaded so long the neighbors cried that dollar lust had faded our courage and our pride. Not to impose our culture on other nations’ schools do we ply catapult or other deadly tools. Not that our bounds may widen to take in our neighbors’ lands do we go to war ridin’ with pitchforks in our hands. Not that our hearts are burning with hate for Wilhelm’s hordes do we begin a-turning our stovehooks into swords. When peace is again reigning, and seems as good as new, there will be no shamed explaining for Uncle Sam to do. No words need then be spoken, in Uncle Sam’s defense; he has no pledges broken, in spirit or in sense. For this we should be grateful, whle smiling cooks produce the large and brimming plateful of turkey, duck or goose.
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