Child of the grand old winter,
December floateth by;
And the ground without is bare and white
As the moon in the cloudless sky.
The wind blows cold and dreary,
Across the whitened plain;
And we see the oaks with their branches bare,
Through the frost on the window pane.
But within where the yule-log’s burning,
Each heart is happy and gay;
For the loving Prince of earth and Heaven,
Was born on Christmas day.
Then hail! grand old December,
We welcome you once more!
For the memory sweet of a night you bring,
That came in the days of yore.