Wild was the day; the wintry sea <br />Moaned sadly on New-England's strand, <br />When first the thoughtful and the free, <br />Our fathers, trod the desert land. <br /> <br />They little thought how pure a light, <br />With years, should gather round that day; <br />How love should keep their memories bright, <br />How wide a realm their sons should sway. <br /> <br />Green are their bays; but greener still <br />Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, <br />And regions, now untrod, shall thrill <br />With reverence when their names are breathed. <br /> <br />Till where the sun, with softer fires, <br />Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep, <br />The children of the pilgrim sires <br />This hallowed day like us shall keep.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-twenty-second-of-december/
