Time to Remember the Poor

Cold winter is come, with its cold chilling breath
And the leaves are all gone from the trees.
And all seems touched by the finger of death
And the streams are beginning to freeze.
When the young wanton lads o'er the river slide,
When Flora attends us no more,
When in plenty you are sitting by a warm fireside:
That's the time to remember the poor.

The cold feather'd snow will in plenty descend
And whiten the prospects around.
The keen cutting wind from the North will attend
And cover it over the ground.
When the hills and the dales are all candied with white
And the rivers are froze on the shore,
When the bright twinkling stars they proclaim the cold night:
That's the time to remember the poor.

The poor timid hare through the woods may be traced
With the footsteps indented in the snow,
When our lips and our fingers are dangling with cold
And the marksman a-shooting does go.
When the poor Robin Redbreast approaches your cot
And the icicles hang at the door,
And when your bowl smokes reviving and hot:
That's the time to remember the poor.

The thaw shall ensue and the waters increase
And the rivers vehemently grow;
The fish from oblivion obtains its release
And in danger the travellers go.
When your minds are annoyed by the wide swelling flood
And your bridges are useful no more;
When in plenty you enjoy everything that is good
Do you grumble to think of the poor?

The time will come when our Saviour on Earth
All world shall agree with one voice.
All nations unite to salute the blest morn
And the whole of the Earth shall rejoice.
When grim death deprived of its killing sting
And the grave rules triumphant no more
Saints, angels and men Hallelujah shall sing
Then the rich must remember the poor.

(Traditional English Folk Song)