A Winter Lyric

COME, harp of mineAnd let’s entwineA love-wreath round thy chords so light;The storm-sprites raveO’er vault and grave.The elements are drunk to-night;Behold the Lord’sRed flaming swordsFlash scabbardless across the clouds,And from the deepThe sea-ghosts leapAlong the beach in snowy shrouds,Then sing with meA song of glee,My soul is filled with wildest mirth:’Tis just the timeTo chant and chimeThe praise of our old Mother Earth

Faithful harp, I feel thy stringsTrembling as my fingers play,And the wailing wind that singsThrough the crannies joins our lay;And methinks weird sprites on wingsHover round the house and say:“Death alone affection brings—True love lives in clay to clay.”

Loving harp! the truth is told,Mother Earth is true and tried.In her bosom’s faithful foldSlumber soundly, side by side.Peer and peasant, young and old,Slaves of poverty and pride.Ah! her heart is true as gold,And her love is deep and wide.

Harp of mine! again, againWarm pulsations fondly strayO’er thy cords—whilst wind and rain’Gainst the windows sing and say:“Woman’s heart is false and vain,Lovers’ vows are light as spray,Faithless maid and foolish swain,True love lives in clay to clay.”

Then sing with me,Right merrily,The praises of our Mother kind;Her heart is pure,Her love is sure,To all our faults and follies blind.She gives us restUpon her breast,And these poor mortal shells of oursShe purifies,And we ariseTo live again in buds and flowers.Then sing with meA song of glee,My soul is filled with wildest mirth;’Tis just the timeTo chant and chimeThe praise of our old Mother Earth.