And severed friendships, bright day-dreams flown,
Thronged on his thoughts in that moment lone.
"Yes, happiness-hope," he murmured low,
"All buried alike beneath the snow."

"O, for the right to lay down the load
I've borne so long on life's dreary road,
Heavily weighing on heart and brain,
And as galling to both as a convict's chain;--
No more its strain shall I tamely bear
But join the peaceful sleepers there."

His head on the old wall drooped more low,
Whilst faster came down the sleet and snow,
Sharply chilling the blood in his veins,
Racking his frame with rheumatic pains;
"No matter," he thought, "I'll soon lie low,
Calm--quiet enough--beneath the snow."

Ah! hapless one, thus thine arms to yield
When nearly won, perchance, is the field.
After long struggling to lose at last
The price of many a victory past,
Of many an hour of keen, sharp strife,
Mournfully spent in the war of Life.

But, hark! on high sound the Christmas bells,
Of hope to that mourner their chiming tells,
Of the sinless hours of childhood pure,
Of a God who came all griefs to cure;