FAR off in the north the bright lights glow, Darting their gleamings o'er deserts of snow; Swift as their flashes my reindeer go, Swift to my waiting love. Around me there whistles the cold winter blast, The lights fade away, the clouds thicken fast; But soon I'll be there, all peril safe past, At the side of my waiting love. Then heigh-ho, reindeer! heigh-ho, twinkling feet! Yet quicker, yet faster; be swift, be fleet! That soon in sweet rapture my own shall meet The lips of my waiting love. |