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Winter giveth the fields and the trees, so old,

Their beards of icicles and snow; And the rain, it raineth so fast and cold,

We must cower over the embers low; And, snugly housed from the wind and weather, Mope like birds that are changing feather. But the storm retires, and the sky grows clear,

When thy merry step draws near.

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy sky

Wrap him round with a mantle of cloud; But, Heaven be praised, thy step is nigh ;

Thou tearest away the mournful shroud, And the earth looks bright, and Winter surly, Who has toiled for nought both late and early, Is banished afar by the new-born year,

When thy merry step draws near.



Sweet babe ! true portrait of thy father's face,

Sleep on the bosom, that thy lips have pressed ! Sleep, little one ; and closely, gently place

Thy drowsy eyelid on thy mother's breast.

Upon that tender eye, my little friend,

Soft sleep shall come, that cometh not to me! I watch to see thee, nourish thee, defend ;

'T is sweet to watch for thee, — alone for thee! His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon his brow;

His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor dreams of harm. Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy glow,

Would you not say he slept on Death's cold arm?

Awake, my boy!—I tremble with affright !

Awake, and chase this fatal thought !- Unclose Thine

eye but for one moment on the light ! Even at the price of thine, give me repose !

Sweet error!— he but slept, - I breathe again ;

Come, gentle dreams, the hour of sleep beguile! O! when shall he, for whom I sigh in vain,

Beside me watch to see thy waking smile ?



For thee was a house built

Ere thou wert born,

For thee was a mould meant

Ere thou of mother camest.

But it is not made ready,
Nor its depth measured,
Nor is it seen
How long it shall be.

Now I bring thee
Where thou shalt be ;
Now I shall measure thee,
And the mould afterwards.

Thy house is not
Highly timbered,
It is unhigh and low;
When thou art therein,
The heel-ways are low,
The side-ways unhigh.
The roof is built
Thy breast full nigh,
So thou shalt in mould
Dwell full cold,
Dimly and dark.

Doorless is that house, And dark it is within ;

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