And ere we saw the sundown all yellow through the trees,
The farmyard stood as thick with wood as a buckwheat patch with bees;
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
And with the last-returning teams, and axes burnished bright,
We left the woods to slumber in the frosty shadowed night.
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
And then the wide, warm kitchen, with beams across the ceiling,
Thick hung with red-skinned onions, and homely herbs of healing!
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
The dishes on the dresser-shelves were shining blue and white,
And o’er the loaded table the lamps beamed bright.
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
Then, how the ham and turkey and the apple-sauce did fly,
The heights of boiled potatoes and the flats of pumpkin-pie!
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
With bread-and-cheese and doughnuts fit to feed a farm a year!
And we washed them down with tides of tea and oceans of spruce beer.
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
At last the pipes were lighted and the chairs pushed back,
And Bill struck up a sea-song on a rather risky tack;
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
And the girls all thought it funny—but they never knew ’twas worse,
For we gagged him with a doughnut at the famous second verse.
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!
Then someone fetched a fiddle, and we shoved away the table,
And ’twas jig and reel and polka just as long as we were able,
Oh, merry swing the axes, and the bright chips fly!
Till at last the girls grew sleepy, and we got our coats to go.
We started off with racing-teams and moonlight on the snow;
Oh, the frost is on the forest, and the snow piles high!