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THE PATH THROUGH THE SNOW.
THE PATH THROUGH THE SNOW.
BARE and sunshiny, bright and bleak,
Rounded cold as a dead maid's check,
Folded white as a sinner's shroud,
Or wandering angel's robes of cloud.—
   Well I know, well I know
Over the fields the path through the snow.

Narrow and rough it lies between
Wastes where the wind sweeps, biting keen:
Every step of the slippery road
Marks where some weary foot has trod;
   Who 'll go, who 'll go
After the rest on the path through the snow?

They who would tread it must walk alone,
Silent and steadfast—one by one:
Dearest to dearest can only say,
"My heart! I 'll follow thee all the way,
   As we go, as we go,
Each after each on this path through the snow."

It may be under that western haze
Lurks the omen of brighter days;
That each sentinel tree is quivering
Deep at its core with the sap of spring,