Around the house some staid to pile

Around the house some staid to pile The gathered wood in proper style; Which ever harder work they found As high and higher rose the mound.

Above the window-sill it grew, And next, the cornice hid from view; And, ere the dawn had forced a stop, The pile o'erlooked the chimney-top.

Some hands were sore, some backs were blue, And legs were scraped with slipping through Where ice and snow had left their mark On rounded log and smoothest bark.

That morning, when the parson rose, Against the pane he pressed his nose, And tried the outer world to scan To learn how signs of weather ran.

But, 'round the house, behind, before, In front of window, shed, and door, The wood was piled to such a height But little sky was left in sight!