The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
115
IV. SONG OF WINTER
Dreary snows are all around us in the gardens,
And the starlit frosty sky is chilly blue.
On the silent stream the stifling cold ice hardens:
The moon shivers at the air it travels through.
Yet the sweetest of the seasons is the winter:
Winter well may smile at summer's ardent scorn.
When the air was keen with many an icy splinter,
Love with summer at the heart of him was born.
And the starlit frosty sky is chilly blue.
On the silent stream the stifling cold ice hardens:
The moon shivers at the air it travels through.
Yet the sweetest of the seasons is the winter:
Winter well may smile at summer's ardent scorn.
When the air was keen with many an icy splinter,
Love with summer at the heart of him was born.
Love hath summer in his spirit never dying.
Does it matter if the wild wind through the sprays
Dashes, leaving all the tossing branches sighing?
Does it matter if the snow-drifts pile the ways?
For in winter through a humble heart and lowly
God revealed himself to man. On Christmas morn
Jesus Christ the pure of soul, the Saviour holy,
Heedless of the bitter winter wind, was born.
Does it matter if the wild wind through the sprays
Dashes, leaving all the tossing branches sighing?
Does it matter if the snow-drifts pile the ways?
For in winter through a humble heart and lowly
God revealed himself to man. On Christmas morn
Jesus Christ the pure of soul, the Saviour holy,
Heedless of the bitter winter wind, was born.
116
And the winter of the spirit—bitter sorrow—
Who can banish, who can temper, if not he?
Who but Jesus can remind us that to-morrow
Shall be sunshine, though murk night is on the sea?
For in winter, in the season when the berry
Gleams, bright scarlet on the holly and the thorn,
Men may feast, the saddest spirits may make merry:
In the winter night the Prince of light was born.
Who can banish, who can temper, if not he?
Who but Jesus can remind us that to-morrow
Shall be sunshine, though murk night is on the sea?
For in winter, in the season when the berry
Gleams, bright scarlet on the holly and the thorn,
Men may feast, the saddest spirits may make merry:
In the winter night the Prince of light was born.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |