Two hundred years to end?
O! gather in the old yule log,
Who rear’d his branches high
In the sunbeams of a summer’s eve,—
Heav’n’s radiant canopy:
While waving in th’ horizon, then,
Ah! then he could proclaim
His anger to the whirlwind; but,
Alas! it conquer’d him.
O! gather in the old yule log;—