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WHEN from the north the cold wind blows,
And when Jack Frost grips keen;
When fields are bare an ev'ry wood
Has lost its tint of green;
When leaves no longer deck the trees.
How quick the moments glide.
When we sit down in comfort
By our old fireside.
A king may boast of palaces;
A duke may boast of land;
And both have servants at their heels
To run at their command.
But with all their pedigrees:
With all their pomp and pride;
The working man's as happy
By his old fireside.
What if we are just humble folk,
And not of high degree;
There's comfort in an humble home,
Although the rooms are wee.
Our greatest statesmen were all born
In rooms not very wide;
We love to sing their praises
'Round our old fireside.
So join with me, my honest friends,
And sing this simple song.
Twill help us on life's weary road,
O'er which we'll soon be gone.
What if the road be very steep—
In Him we have a Guide
Who cares and watches o'er us
'Round our old fireside.
—L. A. Wentworth
Western, Field. Western Field - Sportsmans Magazine of the West. San Francisco: Western Field, 1907.
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