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Debra Cowan
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The Snow Is on the Ground
Cold winter is come with its cold chilling breath
And the verdure's all dropped from the trees
All nature seems touched by the finger of death
And the streams are beginning to freeze
When the hills and the dales are all covered with white
And Flora attends us no more
When you are enjoying a good fire-side
Will you grumble to think on the poor?
When the north wind's ascending and chilling the ground
And the sportsmen again shooting go
And the happy young lads o'er the rivers can slide
And the icicles hang at your door
When our lips and our fingers are trembling with cold
And the rivers are froze on the shore
When the bright twinkling stars they proclaim the cold night
It's the time to remember the poor
When the poor harmless hare is tracked to the woods
With his footsteps indented in snow
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And the robin red breast he approaches your cot
And in danger the traveler goes
When your minds are annoyed by the wide swelling flood
And the bridges are useful no more
When your bowl warms with something reviving and hot
Will you grumble to think on the poor
Soon a day it will come when our Saviour we'll see
All nations shall join in one voice
All the world shall unite to salute the sweet 'morn
All the ends of the earth shall rejoice
When grim death's deprived of his killing sting
And the grave rules triumphant no more
Saints, angels and men hallelujah shall sing
That's the time to remember the poor
Saints, angels and men hallelujah shall sing
Then the rich must remember the poor
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