’Tis win­ter now; the fall­en snow
Has left the heav’ns all cold­ly clear;
Through leaf­less boughs the sharp winds blow,
And all the earth lies dead and drear.

And yet God’s love is not with­drawn;
His life with­in the keen air breathes;
His beau­ty paints the crim­son dawn,
And clothes the boughs with glit­ter­ing wreaths.

And though abroad the sharp winds blow,
And skies are chill, and frosts are keen,
Home clos­er draws her cir­cle now,
And warm­er glows her light with­in.

O God! Who giv’st the win­ter’s cold
As well as sum­mer’s joy­ous rays,
Us warm­ly in Thy love en­fold,
And keep us through life’s win­try days.