THE SONG.
Oh! how pleasant it is when the snow's on the ground,
And the icicles hang on the eaves all around,
O'er the white winter-carpet our way to pursue,
With our schoolmates and friends ever hearty and true!
When we come to the place of the jolly long slide,
With a run and a jump o'er the ice we will glide:
Look out for the engine! keep off of the rail!
Don't you hear the steam-whistle? make way for the mail!
We laugh at cold weather; we laugh at mishaps;
We will slide till we're warm from our shoes to our caps;
And the quick bounding blood as it mantles and glows
Shall paint all our cheeks like the fresh, ruddy rose.
So we'll keep the pot boiling; now up the long slide,
And then down on the other that runs by its side,—
There's nothing like tiring, there's nothing like rest,—
Till the broad yellow sun is far down in the west.
George Bennett.
