Thursday, November 23, 2006

Thanksgiving 2006

We are at my parent's house in Houston for Thanksgiving week, and there will be three out of four of the Hancock siblings present. At Christmas, there will also be three out of four present. We won't be there, but my brother from Annapolis and his family will be, so between the two holidays, all of us will be there.

We may all be down shortly into the new year when my parents move from the house to a duplex. I hope it will work out that we all can help in the move.

The meal will be a "tur-duc-hen" with cajun seafood stuffing. This will be a new experience and I am looking forward to it. It sounds like a real taste treat, but I may need a long nap afterwards.

Our family has much to be thankful for, and not the least is that we are able to be together.

One of my favorite hymns for Thanksgiving is this one. The hymn was written in 1844 by Henry Alford and is generally sung to the tune St. George's Windsor, written in 1858 by George J. Elvey. My source of information is The Cyber Hymnal, an excellent source for words and history of hymns.

Note that "corn" is a term applied to the prevailing food grain in a region, whether it is wheat or maize (or rye or barley, for that matter).

Come, ye thankful people, come, raise the song of harvest home;
All is safely gathered in, ere the winter storms begin.
God our Maker doth provide for our wants to be supplied;
Come to God’s own temple, come, raise the song of harvest home.

All the world is God’s own field, fruit unto His praise to yield;
Wheat and tares together sown unto joy or sorrow grown.
First the blade and then the ear, then the full corn shall appear;
Lord of harvest, grant that we wholesome grain and pure may be.

For the Lord our God shall come, and shall take His harvest home;
From His field shall in that day all offenses purge away,
Giving angels charge at last in the fire the tares to cast;
But the fruitful ears to store in His garner evermore.

Even so, Lord, quickly come, bring Thy final harvest home;
Gather Thou Thy people in, free from sorrow, free from sin,
There, forever purified, in Thy garner to abide;
Come, with all Thine angels come, raise the glorious harvest home.

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