I didn't know the song that I sang in elementary school every Thanksgiving season was a poem by Lydia Maria Child.
And I do not think we ever sang the last two verses.
I would have remembered "Hurrah for the pumpkin pie" !
And I do not think we ever sang the last two verses.
I would have remembered "Hurrah for the pumpkin pie" !
Both poems were in Werner's Magazine: A Magazine of Expression in 1899.
A BOY'S THANKSGIVING.
By Lydia Maria Child.
OVER the river and through the wood
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river and through the wood!
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
As over the ground we go.
Over the river and through the wood,
And straight through the barnyard gate,
We seem to go extremely slow;
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the wood!
Now grandmother's cap I spy!
A BOY'S THANKSGIVING.
By Lydia Maria Child.
OVER the river and through the wood
To grandfather's house we go;
The horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river and through the wood!
Oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
As over the ground we go.
Over the river and through the wood,
And straight through the barnyard gate,
We seem to go extremely slow;
It is so hard to wait!
Over the river and through the wood!
Now grandmother's cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!
PUMPKIN PIE.
WHEN melancholy days come round and leaves get brown and red;
When corn is shocked, and when you add a blanket to your bed;
When apples, pared and quartered, are set in the sun to dry;
This is the time you smack your lips and think of pumpkin pie.
This pumpkin pie's a tempting dish to almost any fellow;
So sweet and tender, luscious (yum!) and then, withal, so yellow.
You stir up eggs and milk and spice and sugar, O my eye!
And then you add the pumpkin, and that makes the pumpkin pie.
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!
PUMPKIN PIE.
WHEN melancholy days come round and leaves get brown and red;
When corn is shocked, and when you add a blanket to your bed;
When apples, pared and quartered, are set in the sun to dry;
This is the time you smack your lips and think of pumpkin pie.
This pumpkin pie's a tempting dish to almost any fellow;
So sweet and tender, luscious (yum!) and then, withal, so yellow.
You stir up eggs and milk and spice and sugar, O my eye!
And then you add the pumpkin, and that makes the pumpkin pie.
