Poems (Curwen)/Winter's coming

by Annie Isabel Curwen

Winter's Coming.

He is coming, he is coming,
 I hear the snowflakes say;
We are heralds of the Frost King,
 Who is coming soon this way.
All your summer flowers are faded,
 You have garnered in your grain;
Autumn's reign will soon he over,
 Then our king will come to reign.

It is coming, it is coming,
 The mother birdie sings;
As she spreads above her nestling
 Her warm and downy wings;
It is coming, winter's coming,
 And we'll perish. But her mate
Answers."God, the good God's o'er us,
 Trust Him, little wife, and wait."

Winter's coming, winter's coming,
 Cry the children of the poor,
Shivering in their scanty dresses,
 While the wolf howls at the door.
He is coming, sigh the mothers,
 With their faces pinched and blue,
He is coming, O God, help us,
 Help us the dark winter through.

I am coming, I am coming,
 I can hear his voice afar,
In the region of the North Pole,
 Like a challenge to the war.
Sisters, brothers, we can face him,
 And his stormy blast endure,
If we keep love's watch-fire burning,
 And the rich will help the poor.