Brings you safely to the earth,

Guides you through the wintry gales?"

"He who tells the birds to sing,

He who sends the April flowers,

He who ripens all the fruit,

That great Master, he is ours."

-E. A. Rand.

STAND

THE SNOW-SHOWER.

TAND here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes; The clouds hang over it heavy and gray,

And dark and silent the water lies; And out of that frozen mist the snow, In wavering flakes, begins to flow; Flake after flake,

They sink in the dark and silent lake.

See how in a living swarm they come

From the chambers beyond that misty veil;

Some hover awhile in air, and some

Rush prone from the sky like summer hail.

All, dropping swiftly, or settling slow,
Meet, and are still in the depths below;
Flake after flake,

Dissolved in the dark and silent lake.

Here delicate snow-stars, out of the cloud,
Come floating downward in airy play,

Like spangles dropped from the glistening crowd,
That whiten by night the milky way;
There broader and burlier masses fall;
The sullen water buries them all

Flake after flake

All drowned in the dark and silent lake.

And some, as on tender wings they glide

From their chilly birth-cloud, dim and gray, Are joined in their fall, and, side by side,

Come clinging along their unsteady way; As friend with friend, or husband with wife, Makes hand in hand the passage of life; Each mated flake

Soon sinks in the dark and silent lake.

Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste

Stream down the snows, till the air is white,

As, myriads by myriads madly chased,

They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair frail creatures of middle sky,

What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake,

To lie in the dark and silent lake!

I see in thy gentle eyes a tear;

They turn to me in sorrowful thought; Thou thinkest of friends, the good and dear, Who were for a time, and now are not; Like those fair children of cloud and frost, That glisten a moment and then are lost, Flake after flake

All lost in the dark and silent lake.

Yet look again, for the clouds divide;
A gleam of blue on the water lies;
And far away, on the mountain side,

A sunbeam falls from the opening skies.
But the hurrying host that flew between
The cloud and the water, no more is seen;
Flake after flake,

At rest in the dark and silent lake.

- William Cullen Bryant.

WE

THE SNOW-STORM.

E are free! we are free! the snowflakes cried,
Hurrah! hurrah! away we hide.

Now we're whirling, and twirling, and dancing around,

And gently sinking to the ground.

The jolly north wind! how he makes us fly,
And whistles the tune we are dancing by.
We cover the valleys, we cover the hills,
We bury the flowers and frozen rills,

We're dashing out this way, and that way again,
We're dashing against the window pane.

Then away, away, away, away,

We'll make a track for the merry sleigh;

We're drifting high, ah! ah! here's fun

For the boys and girls

When school is done.

Now we're whirling, and twirling, and dancing around,

And gently sinking to the ground.

- Selected.

THE DISAPPOINTED SNOWFLAKES.

FOUR and twenty snowflakes came tumbling from the

sky,

And said, "Let's make a snow drift

We can if we but try.".
So down they gently fluttered

And lighted on the ground,
And when they were all seated
They sadly looked around.
"We're very few indeed," sighed they,
"And we sometimes make mistakes;
We cannot make a snowdrift

With four and twenty flakes."
Just then the sun peeped round a cloud

And smiled at the array,

And the disappointed snowflakes

Melted quietly away.

-Selected.

IT

IT SNOWS! IT SNOWS!

T snows! yes, it snows! and the children are wild,
At thought of the fun in the snow-drifts up-piled;
The boy with his first new boots is in sight,

And the wee baby-girl, with her mittens so bright.
They are tramping and tossing the snow as they run,
And laughing and shouting, so brimful of fun;
While the ten-year-old twins, in a somersault mood,
Have measured their length from the barn to the wood,
A dozen times, yes, or it may be a score,

Till their cheeks are as red as the roses, and more;

Then the elfin of twelve and the boy of fifteen
Are pelting each other with snowballs so keen,
That we, who are older, forget to be staid,

And shout, each with each, as the youngsters, arrayed
In feathery garments, press on or retreat,
Determined to win, nor acknowledge defeat.

But the children, at length, tired out with their play,
And stamping the snow from their feet by the way,
Come slipping and stumbling and scrambling along,
While the big brother catching the baby-girl's song,
“Oh, my finders are told!" gives her now a gay toss,
The golden hair streaming like distaff of floss ;-
And so cheery the group that is ranged round the board,
That for snow, blessed snow, we all thank the good Lord.
- Mother Truth's Melodies.