When battles rage through sleet and snow and frost engulfs the field,
As icy wind wraps numbing chains about the sword you wield—
When dreams are dead and hope is crushed in winter's icy hand,
King Peter lights the battle-flame and bears aloft the brand.
"For victory!" his voice proclaims and pride is in his eyes,
As onwards march the Narnians toward the burning skies.
"We fought the winter once before—we witnessed it depart.
Let not the pains of lesser cold work chills upon your heart."
When battles rage through sleet and snow and fear is lost to none,
King Peter lights the battle-flame and victory is won.
When harvest-time is far behind and empty is the store
And children sob at scanty meals as in the days of yore—
When shelf is clear and hearth is cold beside the table bare,
Queen Susan opens wide the doors and offers up her fare.
"For health and strength!" she bids them eat till each and every one,
Are gorged as full as grazing colts beneath the summer sun.
"No hall is barred to you, my lords, no store too great to share.
For shame the Queen who so neglects the people in her care.
When harvest time is long behind and hunger cripples men,
Queen Susan opens wide the doors and bids them smile again.
When coldly ring the jailors keys and in the dungeons deep,
Thefrosted breath of criminals enfolds them while they sleep—
When deeds once done come back to haunt with guilt's own icy knife,
King Edmund walks thesinner's cells and offers second life.
"For mercy," says the gracious king, the sceptre of the land,
As murderers and petty thieves bend low to kiss his hand.
"Too full already is the grave from rebel days of old,
Pray hasten not your story's end—the rest is yet untold."
When coldly rings the jailors keys and death is close at hand,
King Edmund walks the icy cells and justice rules the land.
When whispered tales of toppled kings drift darkly through the halls,
And ghosts of those who lived and died trace terrors on the walls—
When rumours tell illicitly that winter comes to stay,
Queen Lucy smiles—it is enough—the horror slips away.
"For Aslan," as they gather close and so forget their fears,
With promises of old, fulfilled, and tales of better years.
"Remember when the dryads danced to mark the summer's end?
These days will pass—they'll dance again—the lion wills it, friend."
When whispered tales of toppled kings are all the people know,
Queen Lucy smiles—it is enough to say it isn't so.