Thanksgiving on Petoskey Hills.

Beautiful hills,–Petoskey hills;

        High, and airy and grand;

Moulded in nature’s fairest mould,

        Rolling away in fold on fold,

And painted by natures hand.

Your robes are royal in green and gold–

        Pleasant in frowns or smiles;

Silver shod, and sapphire crowned,

        You stand majestic and look down

On miles of liquid miles.

When stormy force is raging,

        When a thousand lives are slain;

In quiet dignity you stand

        And look away on lake and land

Where peace and plenty reign.

You bless the farmer’s honest toil–

        As the harvest comes again.

You give us health from head to root,

        Countless measures of ruby fruit

And acres of golden grain.

Oh ! happy souls with garnered sheaves,

        And brown nuts packed away;

So rich in blessings–kneel in prayer,

        And pray for those who need the care

On each Thanksgiving Day.

                             Mary A. Stranger.

    PETOSKEY RECORD.

             J.C. BONTECOU, Editor

     WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1889.