If only to have a Godly hand to wave

and calm the tyrannous blizzard beyond the panes loudly raging

unstopping it seems on its violent course without intent to pause

sounding it could be said like of a pride of angry roaring lions

having too long served cruel man escaped their circus cagings

 

O! of dread tis to excess in its most hideous form on this battered night

turned stonesque all once flowing waters of the whereabouts 

while from many a ledge and bough icy pendants hang as stalagtite 

 

So too does Jack play his frost inflicting part

administering on the glass albeit beautiful his flaked pictorial breath

sleep now becomes the only and bless-ed respite my reliance

hoping to wake do I to wishfully applaud this storms good riddanced death!