Bowered on sloping hillsides rise
In sunny glow, the purpling vine;
Beneath the greyer English skies,
In fair array, the red-gold apples shine.
   To those in snow,
   To those in sun,
   Love is but one;
   Hearts beat and glow,
   By oak and palm.
Friends, in storm or calm.

On and on old Tiber speeds,
Dark with the weight of ancient crime;
Far north, thr' green and quiet meads,
Flows on the Wye in mist and silv'ring rime.
   To those in snow,
   To those in sun,
   Love is but one;
   Hearts beat and glow,
   By oak and palm.
Friends, in storm or calm.

The pifferari wander far,
They seek the shrines, and hymn the peace
Which herald angels, 'neath the star,
Foretold to shepherds, bidding strife to cease.

Our England sleeps in shroud of snow,
Bells, sadly sweet, knell life's swift flight,
And tears, unbid, are wont to flow,
As "Noel! Noel!" sounds across the night.
   To those in snow,
   To those in sun,
   Love is but one!
   Hearts beat and glow,
   By oak and palm.
Friends, in storm or calm.