When snows the dead earth cumber
And weary Winter reigns
When streams in frozen slumber
Lie torpid in the plains;
Though all seems dead forever,
We know that nought can sever
Cold earth and rigid river
From Spring's awakening.

When trees are bare, and shining
With Winter's frozen breath,
The buds in their warm lining
Know 'tis but seeming death;
Know that not all his keenness,
Nor North Wind's hungry leanness
Can freeze their sleeping greenness
From waking in the spring.

When winter winds of sorrow
Warp brightness from his brow,
Would that man might borrow
Fresh leaves, from Hope's green bough;
But, crouched o'er Joy's dead embers,
Full seldom he remembers
That these drear, dark Decembers
Foretell the coming Spring.