With white hair on his forehead like frost upon the trees.
An image of the winter the haggard pilgrim stands,
And breathing forth his sorrows, lifts up his withered hands:
‘The Heavenly King, who reigns on high,
Bless him who hears the poor man’s cry.’
“‘Our hearts are moved with pity, thy sufferings we deplore,’
Said Alfred’s queen, the gentle, ‘but scanty is our store;
One loaf alone is left us.’ ‘Then give it,’ said the King,
‘For He who feeds the ravens, yes, He will fresh abundance bring.’
The wind was roaring loudly, the snow was falling fast,