That at fortune’s first frown it is o’er,
And we’re certain again when our skies become bright
They’ll flutter around us once more,
And tell them there grows on our mountain crest
A plant which no winter can fade—
And, as changeless, the love of a northern breast,
Blooms ever in sunshine and shade!
Come, and we’ll teach you when Summer is fled,
And the rich robe of Autumn withdrawn,
To welcome old Winter, whose hoary head