This is the turning of the year The final scene before the curtain falls The squirrel warm within his bed of leaves Can not hear the wind that blows around the chimney pots Are like the pilgrim of the year gone by He sliips Once he was a young man Who loved in the spring And lay beneath the upturn sky on long hot summer days But with autumn he grows mellow He looks over his shoulder down the long year path of no Already he's but a memory fading like a shadow on the wall But time with restless footsteps hurries by And now beside the road There stands the pilgrim of the year to be Falling leaves turn to gold Silver flowers on my window Spirit of the fading year gently slips away He knows not where He cannot see Naked trees in the sky Stars are shinning clear and cold Minstrel of the ages sings of words so long ago That age-old tune without a name No one knows In the white falling snow The pilgrim travels on His face toward the sun Beyond the open road he travels on Pass the lamp shinning windows Faces by the fire Before the midnight hour Christmas time hase around again Go to sleep little child Go to sleep little child you shouldn't be awake Go to sleep little child Time to let the night go by Waiting for the sound of a magic sleigh The chimney is not too tall they say Or the roof too high for a reindeer to fly No not too high for a reindeer to fly