Now folds the silent snow a dead year’s shroud,
And icy airs creep through the rattling sash;
While the fierce wind-elf snaps his stinging lash
And all the naked forest moans aloud.
The muddled traveler to the keen air bowed
Hugs close his frame and makes a sudden dash
For the bright hall where harnessed lightnings flash
And a warm blaze makes glad the gathered crowd.
But see where crouches o’er the fading grate
The shivering mother of a child at rest
For scant warmth upon he ill-class breast;
For blameless want is her implacable fate!
Let pampered Wealth forget his greed for gain,
And trembling, outstretched hands implore him not in vain!
