And on this rainy Saturday afternoon as the wet leaves fall to the ground, I'm thinking about my daughters. Johanna is off in Seattle this weekend with her Nate, and Hillary is up at School, hopefully at her roommates place for the weekend.
And my family is coming up from Saskatoon for lunch tomorrow and I'm thankful for them. And that my dad has gone on ahead, and I will celebrate with him yet again.
And that I have food and shelter, and I don't have to march in the streets and shed blood for freedom.
There is so much to be grateful for.
It's good to have someone to express my gratitude to.
Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of Harvest - come!
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin;
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied;
Come to Godâ€™s own temple, come;
Raise the song of Harvest-home!
What is earth but Godâ€™s own field,
Fruit unto his praise to yield?
Wheat and tares therein are sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown;
Ripening with a wondrous power,
Till the final Harvest-hour;
Grant, O Lord of life, that we
Holy grain and pure may be.
Come, then, Lord of Mercy, come,
Bid us sing the Harvest-home!
Let thy saints be gathered in!
Free from sorrow, free from sin;
All upon the golden floor
Praising thee forevermore;
Come, with thousand angels, come;
Bid us sing thy Harvest-home.
Take a moment, think about it, and say, "Thanks."