Portland Gazette, And Maine Advertiser

WINTER,

A Season for Remembering the Poor.

Now Winter is come, with his cold chilling breath,
And the verdure has dropp'd from the trees,
All nature seems touch'd by the finger of death,
And the streams are beginning to freeze.
When wanton young lads o'er the river can slide,
And Flora attends us no more:
When in plenty you sit by a good fire side,
Sure you ought to remember the poor!

When the cold weather's snow does in plenty descend,
And whiten the prospect around;
When the keen cutting winds from the North
Shall attend,
Hard chilling and freezing the ground
When the hills and the dales are all candied with white,
When the rivers congeal to the shore,
When the bright twinkling stars shall proclaim a cold night,
Then remember the state of the poor!

When the poor harmless hare may be traced to the wood,
By her footsteps indented in snow;
When the lips and the fingers are starting with blood:
When the marksmen a fowl-shooting go!
When the poor robin red-breast approaches the cot,
And the icicles hang at the door;
When the bowl smokes with something reviving and hot.
That's the time to remember the poor!

When a thaw shall ensue, and the waters increase,
And the rivers all insolent grow
When the fishes from prison obtain a release:
When in danger the travellers go:
When the meadows are hid with the proud swelling flood;
When the bridges are useful no more,
When in wealth you have every thing that is good,
Can you murmur to think on the poor?