Blackness and the seeping gloom

Of winters nights, of fearsome storm,

Cold that to the bone doth cling

And wet that doth our courage wring

A biting wind, a deepening cold

Bend our back and make us old.

A dream of charity and more

A fireside, an open door,

And into this the traveller turns

Warmth and company he yearns,

But waits to laugh with jolly friends

Kindness that will have no end,

To stand beside the glowing peat

And feel the blush of welcome heat

The warmth of welcome be

Oil poured upon a raging sea,

The robe that drips the storms away

Tells stories of that rainy day

The traveller tired and bruised by life

Seeks to shed the world of strife.

Fire and food will sweep away

The melancholy of the day.

This welcome at the rise of moon

Makes the fiddler strike his tune,

He plucks the string with roisin’d bow

His fingers make the music flow,

And music turns the feet from lead,

Brings back to life those nearly dead,

And beats in tune the heart withal

Our troubles gone we join the ball.