O gentle south wind, 
Sweet child of the sun,
Dear friend of the flowers
And bird sheltring bowers, 
When twilight is done
Come, sing to the weary
A low drowsy song.

O bluff eastern wind, 
Wild rover of seas,
Where ever you scurry
The children are merry,
For up to the clouds
Their kites are all lifted
In fluttering crowds.

O wind of the west,
The fields all rejoice
To hear your sweet singing, 
They know you are bringing
A  gift without price,
The seedlings that follow
Your  loud calling voice.

O jolly north wind,
As soon as you blow
Old Santa's preparing
His reindeer for  faring
Abroad in the snow,
Well laden with presents 
For children below.