It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?
Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
Evil, be thou my good.
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.