\’Tis Time to Remember the Poor

Now winter is come with his cold chilly breath,
And the leaves are all fled from the trees,
All nature seems touch\’d with the finger of death
And the streams are beginning to freeze,
Now, you gay gallant youths, on the river who slide,
Since summer attends you no more,
While with plenty we sit by a good fire side,
Can we murmur to think on the poor.

Here\‘s the white feather\’d snow, which in flakes soft descends
And so white is the prospect all round;
Here\‘s the keen cutting wind from the northward is sent,
Which so furiously sweeps o\’er the ground;
When the hills and vallies are cover\‘d with white,
And the rivers congeal\’d on the shore,
When the bright twinkling stars all proclaim a cold night,
That\’s the time to remember the poor.

Now the poor harmless hare to the woodlands get trac\‘d.
His footsteps all hinted with snow,
And with his feet and with fingers with blood all o\’er lac\‘d,
The marks-men snipe shooting go
Now the poor robin red breast approaches out cot
While icicles hang at each door,
And out dishes are smoking with something that\’s hot,
That\’s the time to remember the poor.

If that that should insue and the waters increase,
And the streams in rude murmurs should flow,
Each fish from its prison obtains a release,
While in danger the travellers go,
When the meads are oerflown with a proud swelling flood,
While with plenty we share ev\’ry thing that is good
Can we murmur to think on the poor.

Now the time will soon come* when our saviour was born,
And we must agree with one voice,
Each heart must contribute to hail the blest morn,
And the earth and all in it rejoice,
Tho\‘s death will ensue, yet depriv\’d of his sting,
The grave it shall triumph no more,
But angels and men hallelujahs shall ring,
And the rich shall rejoice who remember\’d the poor.

*Or hath arriv\’d.

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