LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. WILD was the day; the wintry sea Moaned sadly on New England's strand When first, the thoughtful and the free, Our fathers trod the desert land. They little thought how pure a light, With years, should gather round that day; How love should keep their memories bright, How wide a realm their sons should sway. Green are their bays, and greener still Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed; And regions now untrod shall thrill With reverence when their names are breathed. Till where the sun, with softer fires, Looks on the vast Pacific's sleep, The children of the Pilgrim sires This hallowed day like us shall keep.* W. C. BRYANT. "FOREFATHERS' DAY," December the 22nd, the anniversary of the landing at the Plymouth Rock. THE PILGRIMS' FIRST SABBATH. THE modest Isle of yonder Bay,* Screened from the rougher blasts and spray, New England's pristine Sabbath-day *Clark's Island. Then came the Sabbath; they had been three days from their friends; the Captain was in haste to be gone, but nothing would induce them to move. A sentinel was posted, and the party, under the shelter of a gray rock, kept the first Christian Sabbath in New England. PILGRIMS AT PRAYER. THE winds and waves were roaring, And here, their God adoring, And when its close was calm, The leafless woods repeated The music of their psalm. Not thus, O God, to praise Thee May ours come up before Thee From hearts as true as theirs! What have we, Lord, to bind us Their hill of graves behind us, Their watery way before; PILGRIMS AT PRAYER. 33 The wintry surge that dashes We would not, Holy Father, Forsake this hallow'd spot, Till on that shore we gather Where graves and griefs are not,— The shore where true devotion Shall rear no pillar'd shrine, And see no other ocean Than that of love divine. REV. JOHN PIERPOINT. HOME OF THE PILGRIMS. OVER the mountain wave, see where they come ! Storm-cloud and wintry wind welcome them home; Yet, where the sounding gale howls to the sea, There their song peals along, deep-toned and free : 66 'Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come, Where the free dare to be--this is our home!" England hath sunny dales, dearly they bloom; "Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come, Dim grew the forest-path; onward they trod; 66 'Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come, Where the free dare to be-this is our home!" Not theirs the glory wreath, torn by the blast; "Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come, GEORGE LUNT. |