Warm Thanksgiving fires are burning, over all the land
Frosty winds are blowing down the streets;
Hungry little children by the kitchen tables stand
To look upon the good Thanksgiving sweets.
Molly with cap and apron, open wide the door;
Let us in the kitchen for the fun!
There’s a pudding stuffed with raisins, and the turkey fills the pan,
The pumpkin pie is yellow as the sun.
Upon the silver treasure plate we pile the purple fruit
And Molly swings the heavy oven door;
The air is sweet with spicy things, the kettle hums a tune,
The yellow sun is shining on the floor.
Just out across the river, through the lines of crinkled corn,
A gusty little wind, all up and down,
Plays tag among the melon vines, and then flies off at last,
To tease the smoking chimneys of the town.
Warm Thanksgiving fires are burning, over all the land,
In the kitchens of the houses there is cheer;
And we are very cosy as we watch the little clock;
The hour of merry dinner-time is near.
