Then welcome, cold; welcome, ye snowy nights!

Heaven ’midst your rage shall mingle pure delights,

And confidence of hope the soul sustain,

While devastation sweeps along the plain:

Nor shall the child of poverty despair,

But bless the Power that rules the changing year;

Assur’d—though horrors round his cottage reign—

That Spring will come, and Nature smile again.

Bloomfield.