Lead me to where the lilies grow
When happy leaves have fallen down,
When cold and creeping frost lies low

These dreary moonbeams drip below
To nature unclothed, bared and brown,
So lead me to where the blackthorns grow

When harvest season's honeyed glow
Away the wintry wind has blown,
This cold and cleaving frost lies low,

And the elms scorn their ice-laden boughs,
And kingly oaks have lost their crowns,
So lead me to where the nightshade grows

Still, darkened skies shed deathpale snow;
Let then earth don her dismal gown
As cold and clinging frost lies low

And when morning marks this sad tableau,
My feathered hope to Heaven flown,
Lead me to where the lilies grow
While cold and creeping frost lies low