Lashed by the wintry blasts and surge's roar,

So is he buffeted on every side

By drear misfortune's whelming tide,

By every wind of heaven o'erborne

Some from the sunset, some from orient morn,

Some from Rhipean gloom of everlasting snow.

Father, methinks I see the stranger coming,

Alone he comes and weeping plenteous tears.