Oh, who would be so sad tho’ the sky
And meadow and woodlands are empty
For softly and merrily now there come
The little white birds thro’ the winter-
The squirrel’s enjoying the rest of the
He munches his store in the old hollow
Tho’ cold is the blast and the snow-flakes
He fears the white flock not a whit
more than we.
Then heigho for the flying snow!
Over the whitened roads we go,
With pulses that tingle,
And sleigh-bells a-jingle
For winter’s white birds here’s a cheery