3H A QUESTION.
All because our Pilgrim Fathers,
One November long ago, In the wilderness were thankful,
Spite of winter wind and snow.
Can t we start anew to keep it, Loving them the while as well,
When the glory of October
Burns on mountain-tops and dell
When "the baby," lightly hooded, Safely from its home may come
The busy man fear no delaying,
Rails snow-fettered, wire-speech dumb ;
And the baby s fragile mother
Need not fear the autumn s frown,
Or grandmamma risk retribution Donning cap and silken gown
When the homestead-door may open To the sunshine pure and sweet,
And the dropping gold of maples Stir beneath the welcome feet
Whilst the hillsides wear their greenness,
And along the sunset sky Serried ranks of corn-stacks, banded,
Still their rustling pennons fly.
Pumpkin-pies might glimmer golden Wreathed with blossoms brave and gay ;
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