HAIL, Winter and wild weather, when we are all together, about the
glowing fire! Let frost be e’er so stinging, it can’t disturb our
singing, nor can the Storm King’s ire. The winds may madly mosey, they
only make more cozy the home where we abide; the snow may drift in
billows, but we have downy pillows, and good warm beds inside. The night
indeed has terrors for lonely, lost wayfarers who for assistance call;
who pray for lights to guide them—the lights that are denied them—may
God protect them all! And to the poor who grovel in wretched hut and
hovel, and feel its icy breath, who mark the long hours dragging their
footsteps slow and lagging, the night seems kin to Death. For cheery
homes be grateful, when Winter, fierce and fateful, comes shrieking in
the night; for books and easy rockers, for larders filled and lockers,
and all the warmth and light.
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