Freezing earth; deep snow is drifting;                                       

Leafless twigs against the sky.                                                 

Nothing now my spirit lifting,

Earlier blossoms all must die.                                                                                             

Gay, bright, summer colours fleeing,

Christmas rose alone in being.                                                  

 

 

Cold moon climbs o'er sleepy village

Riding high through twinkling night.

Square-tower'd Church commands our homage,

Glist'ning frost on ev'ry light.

Oh, to find some warmer greeting,

Pray God, give us human meeting.

 

 

Gloss green leaves on shiny holly,

Berries red, 'midst armoured tips.

Can cold mortals e'er be jolly?

Who could sing through frozen lips?

Hark!  I hear a tavern calling,

Let us halt.  Our hearts are falling.

 

 

In through heavy oaken door;

Haven from harsh ice and snow,

Here is Heav'n. Who asks for more?

Logs in inglenook's red glow.

Dark, mulled ale and faces beaming;

All about are tankards, gleaming.

 

 

Blackened beams, bright copper plate,

Leather harness hangs all round.                

This will cure our morbid state;

Here is where good souls abound.

Merriment is for the taking,

Do I feel my heart awaking?

 

 

Old man, feet in hearth to warm,                             

Burnt clay pipe and beard pure white.                     

Songs and music? There's no harm,

Let's forget the bitter night.

We shall join the joyful singing;                                    

Off our cares and woes a-flinging.   

 

Stir the logs, the red sparks rise

Up the ancient chimney breast,

High into the wintry skies,

There to die and come to rest.

Here on earth we must be telling

Of this warm, concordant dwelling.

                                                                                  

 

Time is nigh when we must part;

Out again to face the cold.

Now, refreshed, we're light of heart,

Thoughts are mild but feet are bold.                    

In the houses all are sleeping;

O'er the dark hills dawn is creeping.                   

 

 

Past the ivy-covered fence,

Past stark grave-stones, lives departed.                                 

Full renewed so go we hence,                                 

Striding forth, sustained, stout-hearted.

Oh, Lord, keep our blood still burning

'til the sacred Spring's returning.

                                                           

 

So, good Christian men, be strong,

Find a tavern near at hand.

When snows fall and frosts are long,                                        

Seek this, best in all the land.                                                    

When your pain grows, close to weeping,                                

Fire and ale your soul are keeping.                                            

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