to butterflies in december.
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The mariner hears the bells at sea,
Borne on the wings of the wond'ring wind,
And thinks of home where he fain would be,
And the dear ones he has left behind;
And his eyes grow dim, his bosom swells,
As he catches the echo of the Yuletide bells.
Borne on the wings of the wond'ring wind,
And thinks of home where he fain would be,
And the dear ones he has left behind;
And his eyes grow dim, his bosom swells,
As he catches the echo of the Yuletide bells.
Wanderers hear them in other lands,
And wistfully gaze across the foam,
And yearn for the clasp of familiar hands
And the Yuletide joys of dear home;
For the bells of Yule wherever they ring
Sweetest and holiest of memories bring.
And wistfully gaze across the foam,
And yearn for the clasp of familiar hands
And the Yuletide joys of dear home;
For the bells of Yule wherever they ring
Sweetest and holiest of memories bring.
O, bells of Yule, sweet bells of Yule!
Would ye could ring out care and pain;
Could ring out every wrongful rule;
Could ring in Peace's gentle reign:
Then might we all join hands and sing,
Lo, Christ is born! He is the King!
Would ye could ring out care and pain;
Could ring out every wrongful rule;
Could ring in Peace's gentle reign:
Then might we all join hands and sing,
Lo, Christ is born! He is the King!
To Butterflies in December.
Frail children of the Summer fair,
What do ye here,
In Winter, when the trees are bare,
And days are drear?
What do ye here,
In Winter, when the trees are bare,
And days are drear?
The flow'rs are dead in field and bow'r,
In wood and dell;
Why come at this untimely hour
From out your shell?
In wood and dell;
Why come at this untimely hour
From out your shell?
