Grey grow the clouds
Grey grow the clouds and the leaves are falling,
hushed are the birds long ago,
winter now threatens, and night is calling
flowers sadly sigh: see the snow!
And yet we the torch gladly carry!
Winter is coming, and snow is falling,
flowers wilt and die in their mould,
weeping for Balder no ice is thawing
stiff grow all tears from the cold.
And yet we the torch gladly carry!
Solstice draws near, a new page is turning,
days start to lengthen once more,
sunshine increases, the winter spurning,
larks sing as skyward they soar.
Therefore we the torch gladly carry!
Fearing old age, years replace each other
as every bard knows is right,
birds every year have to shed their feathers
to add more lift to their flight.
And yet we the torch gladly carry!
Birds fly as swift as the wind when winging
lightly o’er wildest of waves,
bards fly aloft, with their rhymes full-ringing,
smoothly o’er ancestors’ graves.
And yet we the torch gladly carry!
Hearts start to falter when loudly beating,
drawn to the birds’ parting track,
light though now triumphs, dark thoughts defeating,
into the ground drives them back
And yet we the torch gladly carry!
Hymns ring out gladly, and bells are chiming,
as Christmas snow they deride,
winter with springtime must needs be rhyming,
melts though the sun has to hide.
And yet we the torch gladly carry!
Hearts full of faith midst the winter’s sadness
give birth to spring bright and clear,
press close the babe newly born with gladness
sure of a blessèd New Year!
And yet we the torch gladly carry!
Bethlehem’s child in the manger lowly
means spring eternal is here,
hearts full of faith sense the message holy:
Christmas will bless the New Year!
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