Chester County's well-loved hills and her woods
and winding streams 
Are lulled to rest by the winter winds and locked in winter
A world of pure and gleaming white, — I love to think of
her so, 
The dear home-land, the quaint old shire, enwrapt in the
silent snow. 
And out on the wandering, winding stream, our pastoral
Brandy wine, 
Where the sleepy August angler sat and dozed by his
drooping line, 
The skaters glide with shout and song in the silvered
moonlit night, 
By leafless willow and fragrant fir, and O 'tis a merry
And I can see the wood-fire's breath from many a chimney
And melt into the filmy blue that sleeps along the skies, 
And watch in the silent afternoon the sunset's dying flame 
Fire all the western woods with light too beautiful to
The spice and tang of the frosty air, the hoot of the
wizard owl, 
The far-away bark of the lonely fox and the watch-dog's
mournful howl, 
Our twilight walk by the desolate woods and over the
windy hill, 
And the rabbit-tracks we found in the glade, — O I can
recall them still!

And then to think of the peace and joy through the frosty
evening long,
 The fireside talk and the merry tales and the bursts of
sweet old song,
And the bonnie children romping there in the ingle's ruddy
The thought of it wakens remembrances of the old years
long ago! 
O, I sometimes think that in all this world, no spot is so
As the roaring hearth of an old farm-house on a windy
winter night; 
And memory holds no happier gleams for grown-up girls
and boys 
Than the country fun and the country fare and the
wholesome country joys.