8
THE SNOW.
Oh! gentle snow—with thy white wing come,
Decking with beauty his lowly home,
Fold thy pure arm o'er his pulseless breast,'
Gem with thy jewels his quiet rest;
Though his pure spirit hath passed away
To the radiant light of unshadowed day,
Remembering the child that hath loved thee so,
Crown his pale slumbers, oh, beautiful snow!
