The New-England Boy's Song About Thanksgiving Day

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, 
To grandfather's house away! 
    We would not stop 
    For doll or top, 
For 't is Thanksgiving Day.

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, 
With a clear blue winter sky, 
    The dogs do bark, 
    And children hark, 
As we go jingling by.

Over the river, and through the wood, 
To have a first-rate play— 
    Hear the bells ring 
    Ting a ling ding, 
Hurra for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood— 
No matter for winds that blow; 
    Or if we get 
    The sleigh upset, 
Into a bank of snow.

Over the river, and through the wood, 
To see little John and Ann; 
    We will kiss them all, 
    And play snow-ball, 
And stay as long as we can.

Over the river, and through the wood, 
Trot fast, my dapple grey! 
    Spring over the ground, 
    Like a hunting hound, 
For 't is Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river, and through the wood, 
And straight through the barn-yard gate; 
    We seem to go 
    Extremely slow, 
It is so hard to wait.

Over the river, and through the wood— 
Old Jowler hears our bells; 
    He shakes his pow, 
    With a loud bow wow, 
And thus the news he tells.

Over the river, and through the wood— 
When grandmother sees us come, 
    She will say, Oh dear, 
    The children are here, 
Bring a pie for every one.

Over the river, and through the wood— 
Now grandmother's cap I spy! 
    Hurra for the fun! 
    Is the pudding done? 
Hurra for the pumpkin pie! 

Originally published in 1844, this poem is in the public domain.

Originally published in 1844, this poem is in the public domain.

Lydia Maria Child

by this poet

poem
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