How Cheerful In The Winter'S Night, As Down The Lane I Stray; The Blacksmith'S Forge Shoots Out Its Light, And Shines Across The Way! The Smith His Labouring Bellows Blows, And Now His Stroke Repeats; Beats The Red Iron, As It Glows, And Shapes It As He Beats. While, Flash! The Frequent Sparkles Fly, And Tongs Are Hissing Red; Content And Cheerful Industry Sweeten His Daily Bread.