Thou Lowly Cot, Where First My Breath I Drew, Past Joys Endear Thee, Childhood'S Past Delight; Where Each Young Summer'S Pictur'D On My View; And, Dearer Still, The Happy Winter-Night, When The Storm Pelted Down With All His Might, And Roar'D And Bellow'D In The Chimney-Top, And Patter'D Vehement 'Gainst The Window-Light, And On The Threshold Fell The Quick Eaves-Drop. How Blest I've Listen'D On My Corner Stool, Heard The Storm Rage, And Hugg'D My Happy Spot, While The Fond Parent Wound Her Whirring Spool, And Spar'D A Sigh For The Poor Wanderer'S Lot. In Thee, Sweet Hut, This Happiness Was Prov'D, And Thee Endear And Make Thee Doubly Lov'D.