Down came the rude winds of the Northland;
Their icy breath crusting the snow, Chilling the mirth of the babbling stream,
Till it sullenly gurgles below. Freezing the shroud on the lifeless hill,
Erst-while all aglow in its green; Mocking the gloom of a low-arched sky
By pearl-flashing forest between.

Bitterly keen was that rude, north wind;
I sighed with the outgoing year, And yearned for the kindlier, warmer suns
Which had waned over Autumn's bier. That love which haloed the loved of youth,
Which kept unscathed its primal hold, Outshone the weal of the passing hour;
And harped on nature's minor chord.

As tenderly, up the aisles of time,
Through many a winter's snow There trilled the long-missed harmonies;
Dear hearts of the long ago! But—Hush ye voices of plaint within!
Give ear to the voices without; Over the snow-piles, down the dull street
There pealeth a boy's merry shout.

A tide of youth, with its pleasure freight,
In sunshine of gladness sweeps past; And clear on the frosty air rings out
"Jolly old Winter's come at last." Then wholesome trust in the Ever-Good
Welled up over carping unrest;— I chime in the chime of the changing years;
They bow to their Ruler's behest.