A Christmas Song

William Cox Bennett

Blow, wind, blow,

Sing through yard and shroud;

Pipe it shrilly and loud,

Aloft as well as below;

Sing in my sailor’s ear

The song I sing to you,

“Come home, my sailor true,

For Christmas that comes so near.”

Go, wind, go,

Hurry his home-bound sail,

Through gusts that are edged with hail,

Through winter, and sleet, and snow;

Song, in my sailor’s ear,

Your shrilling and moans shall be,

For he knows they sing him to me

And Christmas that comes so near.