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O DAY, the crown and crest of all the year! Thou comest not to us amid the snows, But midmost of the reign of the red rose; Our hearts have not yet lost the ancient cheer That filled our fathers’ simple hearts when sere The leaves fell, and the winds of Winter froze The waters wan, and carols at the close Of yester-eve sang the Child Christ anear. And so we hail thee with a greeting high, And drain to thee a draught of our own wine, Forgetful not beneath this bluer sky Of that old mother-land beyond the brine, Whose gray skies gladden as thou drawest nigh, O day of God’s good-will the seal and sign! |