document.write("SING on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,<br />Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain,<br />See aged Winter, ’mid his surly reign,<br />At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow.<br /><br />So in lone Poverty’s dominion drear,<br />Sits meek Content with light, unanxious heart;<br />Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part,<br />Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear.<br /><br />I thank thee, Author of this opening day!<br />Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies!<br />Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys—<br />What wealth could never give nor take away!<br /><br />Yet come, thou child of poverty and care,<br />The mite high heav’n bestow’d, that mite with thee I’ll share.");