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Ye who have nourished sadness, Estranged from hope and gladness In this fast-fading year; Ye with o'erburdened mind, Made aliens from your kind, Come gather here. Let not the useless sorrow Pursue you night and morrow, If e'er you hoped, hope now. Take heart,—uncloud your faces, And join in our embraces Under the Holly-Bough.





Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys, The Christmas log to the firing, While my good dame, she Bids ye all be free, And drink to your heart's desiring.

With the last year's brand Light the new block, and For good success in his spending, On your psalteries play, That sweet luck may Come while the log is a-teending. 