When the deer has bedded down
And the bear has gone to ground
And the northern goose has wandered off
To warmer bay and sound
It's so easy in the cold to feel
The darkness of the year
And the heart is growing lonely
For the morning

Oh, my Joanie, don't you know that the stars are swinging slow
And the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago?
If I had a thing to give you I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning toward the morning

Now October's growing thin
And November's coming home
You'll be thinking of the season
And the sad things that you've seen
And you hear that old wind walking
Hear him singing high and thin
You could swear he's out there singing
Of your sorrow

Oh, my Joanie, don't you know that the stars are swinging slow
And the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago?
If I had a thing to give you I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning toward the morning

When the darkness falls around you
And the North wind comes to blow
And you hear him call you name out
As he walks the brittle snow
That old wind don't mean you trouble
He don't care or even know
He's just walking down the darkness
Toward the morning

Oh, my Joanie, don't you know that the stars are swinging slow
And the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago?
If I had a thing to give you I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning toward the morning

It's a pity we don't know
What the little flowers know
They can't face the cold November
They can't take the wind and snow
They put their glories all behind them
Bow their heads and let it go
But you know they'll be there shining
In the morning

Oh, my Joanie, don't you know that the stars are swinging slow
And the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago?
If I had a thing to give you I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning toward the morning

Now, my Joanie, don't you know
That the days are rolling slow
And the winter's walking easy
As he did so long ago?
And, if that wind should come and ask you
"Why's my Joanie weeping so?"
Won't you tell him that you're weeping
For the morning?

Oh, my Joanie, don't you know that the stars are swinging slow
And the seas are rolling easy as they did so long ago?
If I had a thing to give you I would tell you one more time
That the world is always turning toward the morning