Summary of “A Thanksgiving Hymn to Christ the King”

The poem is a single, sustained act of worship that moves from earthly Thanksgiving beauty to the eternal throne of Jesus Christ.

It begins with the familiar golden splendor of an American Thanksgiving (amber fields, scarlet maples, pumpkin, cider, laughter, and a laden table), yet swiftly lifts every detail into praise of Christ the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the true source of all bounty.

Remembering how Jesus once multiplied loaves on Galilee’s shore, the poem thanks Him not only for food and harvest, but far more for His broken body and shed blood that multiply grace and forgive sins.

Earthly candles and hearthfires fade before the fiercer, saving light of the cross. All temporary joys (turkey, pies, breath itself) are offered back to the Lamb who was slain, that He might transform them into eternal crowns.

The poem closes with a vision that stretches beyond every future Thanksgiving on earth: one day the final harvest will gleam, time will end, and the redeemed will lay endless hallelujahs at the feet of Jesus Christ, the King supreme.

In short, it is a joyous, majestic declaration that every Thanksgiving feast is but a foretaste of the everlasting banquet, and every “thank you” on earth is rehearsal for the unending worship in heaven.

On this golden Thanksgiving day,
when amber light spills over fields laid bare,
we lift our eyes beyond the harvest’s fair array
to Him who crowns the year with mercy rare.

Jesus, Thou King of Kings, bright Morning Star,
whose scepter rules the storm and calms the sea,
before Thy throne we cast our crowns afar,
for every grain and grape are gifts from Thee.

The scarlet maple, burning in its praise,
the pumpkin’s quiet gold, the cider’s steam,
the laughter rising through the autumn haze—
all echo back the glory of Thy name.

Thou who once broke the bread on Galilee’s shore,
and fed the thousands with a child’s small store,
still multiplies our meager thanks once more
till hearts, like loaves, are broken and restored.

We thank Thee for the table richly spread,
for hands that planted, hands that reaped and baked;
yet more, O Lord of Lords, for wounds that bled,
for love that died and rose, and sins erased.

The pilgrim’s candle flickers in the night,
the hearthfire leaps to greet the wandering guest;
but brighter burns Thy cross’s saving light—
in that fierce flame we find our deepest rest.

So take our trembling praise, our feeble song,
our turkey carved, our pies, our fleeting breath;
receive it all, Thou Lamb who bore our wrong,
and weave it into crowns beyond our death.

Forever, Jesus Christ, the King supreme,
we laud Thy name through every coming year;
till earth’s last harvest yields its final gleam
and crown Thy throne with endless hallelujahs clear.

Amen.