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THE SNOW-STORM.
��How quietly the snow comes down,
When all are fast asleep, And plays a thousand fairy pranks
O'er heath and valley deep. How cunningly it winds its way
To every cranny small ; And creeps through even the slightest chink
In window, or in wall.
To every noteless hill it brings
As fair and white a crest As that with which it freely decks
The proudest mountain's breast. To every reaching spray it gives
All that its hand can hold ; A bounteous thing the snow is
To all, both young and old.
The waking day, through curtain 'd haze, Looks forth, with sore suqjrise,
To view what changes have been wrought Since last she shut her eyes.
�� �
