Wild cries the Winter, and we walk song-haunted Over the moors and by the thundering falls Or where the dirge of a brave past is chaunted In dolorous dusks by immemorial walls Though rains may thrash on us, the great mists blind us And lightning rend the pine-tree on the hill Yet we are strong, yet shall the morning find us Children of tempest all unshaken still Wild cries the Winter, and we walk song-haunted Over the moors and by the thundering falls Or where the dirge of a brave past is chaunted In dolorous dusks by immemorial walls Though rains may thrash on us, the great mists blind us And lightning rend the pine-tree on the hill Yet we are strong, yet shall the morning find us Children of tempest all unshaken still