Behold! a new white world!
The falling snow
Has cloaked the last old year
And bid him go.
To-morrow! cries the oak
To his lone heart,
My sealèd buds shall fling
Their leaves apart.
To-morrow! pipes the thrush,
And once again
How sweet the nest that long
Was full of rain.
To-morrow! bleats the sheep,
And one by one
My little lambs shall play
Beneath the sun.
For us, too, let some fair
To-morrow be,
O Thou who weavest threads
Of Destiny!
Thou wast a babe on that
Far Christmas Day,
Let us as children go
Upon Thy way.

So that our hearts grown cold
'Neath time and pain,
With young sweet faith may bloom
All green again;
That empty promises
Of passing years
Spring into life, and not
Repenting tears;
So that our deeds upon
The earth may go,
As innocent as lambs,
And pure as snow.