When The Coal Bin’s Full

When the mercury is low,

An the skies are spittin snow,

An the winds are howlin, growlin, like a rarin, tearin bull

Then we laff an poke the fire,

An we snug a little nigher,

An we never min the weather when the coal bin’s full.

c. March 15, 1895

Pub. in Boston Courier,

March 31, 1895