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.