As mortals, we must feed these minds
And hearts of decadence and decay
And give thanks for the way
We live our lives today
And give thanks for Thanksgiving,
Thanksgiving for our working hourly living
Thanksgiving to the Nations of the World
Thanksgiving for the sun and the stars in his lantern shield
Thanksgiving to the birds and the bees of the field
The autumn harvests in their granary high yield
Thanksgiving to the Lamb of God
Thanksgiving unto each one another
Father, sister, mother and brother
Thanksgiving for the lightening whirling winds and rain
Thanksgiving for the burning bush his voice of eternal living flame
Thanksgiving to the Sublimation of new life in his glorious name
Thanksgiving on this, His harvest festival day:
Thanksgiving to now harrowing a new and better field of play
Give thanks, Thanksgiving every single day
Until the lord is god your saviour to stay
And let us not forget his worldwide enemies' empty anger and bitter hunger
Let us not beg nor borrow nor lazily steal another man's thunder
In that old fiendish devilish well-drained-dried-up-way
As mortals, we must feed these minds and hearts of disarray
Cup and poor his spiritual entourages of love, his shepherding waters
Into these empty sanguine passages of fulfilment hopes and dreams
Into these waylaying cadis fly vessels in his forking midnight streams
unto these soulless suffering idle human beings of sorrow
That knead the bread of riches but not the humbling soil
Praise be to God, most of us do dig like old farmhands in the cattle sheds ditch
And praise be to God, we're finding glories in his deepest manure barrows pitched
And praise be to God, on this His harvest festival day:
That you and I are not a satanic minstrel band passing on its parvenu way:
Praise be to God, we all came to wander poorly along
This same old granite churchyard road today in jubilant cornucopias throng.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem