Oh, Who Would Be Sad Tho' The Sky Be A-Graying, And Meadow And Woodlands Are Empty And Bare; For Softly And Merrily Now There Come Playing, The Little White Birds Thro' The Winter-Kissed Air. The Squirrel'S Enjoying The Rest Of The Thrifty, He Munches His Store In The Old Hollow Tree; Tho' Cold Is The Blast And The Snow-Flakes Are Drifty He Fears The White Flock Not A Whit More Than We. Chorus: Then Heigho For The Flying Snow! Over The Whitened Roads We Go, With Pulses That Tingle, And Sleigh-Bells A-Jingle For Winter'S White Birds Here'S A Cheery Heigho!