Robert Kirkland Kernighan

(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

When It's Very, Very Cold - Poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

Are you thinking of the children,

And the helpless, and the old,
When the windy days are wintry

And the endless nights are cold ?
When the little ones are crying
And the helpless mother 's sighing,
When their only fire is dying,
And it 's very, very cold ?

Are you thinking of the cradle
And the baby blue with cold?

It hears a frozen lullaby

That once was gaily trolled.

The dying fire is blinking,

The mother's heart is sinking ;

My brother are you thinking,
When it 's very, very cold ?

Are you thinking of the weak ones
Whose tongue no tale has told?

How they fell against the rushing
Of the hearty ones and bold !

Their wretched bosoms quiver,

As shelterless they shiver

Beside the awful river,
For it 's very, very cold.

My brother to the sepulcher !
Go soon it 's very cold.


See that the stone of Destiny
Is from the entrance rolled.

Let no more hurt alarm them ;

Let no more evil harm them ;

Oh, let their Savior warm them,
For it 's very, very cold.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, May 14, 2012



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