Classic Poem

Who's in the storm that loudly roars?
Who, known to us, is out of doors?
Who's out amid the raving storm,
While we are housed so lew and warm?
Thank God, the cattle, ev'ry head,
Are up at home in lewth or shed,
While broadened waters swiftly sweep
The flooded meads, a half-gate deep,
Flowing, flouncing, mile by mile,
Over field, and path, and stile.

Who's out with weatherbeaten head
And has not on him one dry thread?
Who, called away from his abode,
Is now, and must be, on the road?
The while, beneath our stonen roof,
Within our house, all weather-proof,
A fire within the strong barr'd door
Glows out around the walls and floor,
And flaming, flaring, flings its heat
O'er us all, from head to feet.

And who beheld, ere evening fell,
The hay, in rick, swim down the dell?
Who saw the footbridge smoothly swim
Adown the stream, ere day was dim?
And who beheld the hurdles flung
Upon the hedge, and gate unhung
Till o'er the waves in pelting rain
And cast within the flooded lane,
Swimming, swerving, round and round,
While its post was deeply drown'd?

May walls withstand the stormwind's might,
And may all roofs be weather-tight,
And may no treehead, if it break,
Fall down on folk that sleep or wake.
May no lone travellers on the road
Be drown'd in darksome lanes o'erflow'd,
But may each soul that now must roam
Soon find, as we, a happy home,
Smiling smoothbrow'd in his seat,
In his seat, with heat and meat.