Part 4

“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”

The universe is full of conscious intelligence, from him who is the “Father of lights,” downward through endless ranks of being, and the hymn of admiring praise perpetually ascends to him for the perfection and glory of his works.

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Obey God. His laws to the snow-flake are designed to make it beautiful and useful. So are his laws to you. He tells the flake to put on such a form and go to such a place, and it goes without murmuring or reluctance. Obey God, and you will put on the beauty of holiness and bless the world.

Kirk.

The Snow-Flake.

“Now, if I fall, will it be my lot To be cast in some low and lonely spot, To melt, and to sink unseen and forgot? And there will my course be ended?” ’Twas thus a feathery snow-flake said, As down through measureless space it strayed, Or as, half by dalliance, half afraid, It seemed in mid-air suspended.

“Oh, no!” said the earth; “thou shalt not lie Neglected and lone on my lap to die, Thou pure and delicate child of the sky; For thou wilt be safe in my keeping. But then, I must give thee a lovelier form;— Thou wilt not be a part of the wintry storm, But revive, when the sunbeams are yellow and warm, And the flowers from my bosom are peeping!

“And then thou shalt have thy choice, to be Restored in the lily that decks the lea, In the jessamine bloom, the anemone, Or aught of thy spotless whiteness;— To melt, and be cast, in a glittering bead, With the pearls that the night scatters over the mead, In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed, Regaining thy dazzling brightness.

“I’ll let thee awake from thy transient sleep, When Viola’s mild blue eye shall weep, In a tremulous tear; or, a diamond, leap In a drop from the unlocked fountain; Or, leaving the valley, the meadow, and heath, The streamlet, the flowers, and all beneath, Go up, and be wove in the silvery wreath Encircling the brow of the mountain.

“Or, wouldst thou return to a home in the skies, To shine in the Iris, I’ll let thee arise, And appear in the many and glorious dyes A pencil of sunbeams is blending; But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth, I’ll give thee a new and a vernal birth, When thou shalt recover thy primal worth, And never regret descending.”

“Then I will drop!” said the trusting flake; “But bear it in mind that the choice I make, Is not in the flowers nor the dew to wake, Nor the mist that shall pass with morning; For, things of thyself, they will die with thee; But those that are lent from on high, like me, Must rise,—and will live, from the dust set free, To the regions above returning.

“And, if true to thy word and just thou art, Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart, And return to my native heaven. For I would be placed in the beautiful bow, From time to time in thy sight to glow, So thou mayst remember the Flake of Snow, By the promise that God has given!”

H. F. Gould.

Mabel’s Wonder.

“There must be flowers in heaven!” Little Mabel wondering cried, As she gazed through the frosted window,— “Ah yes, ah yes,” I replied.

“And every single blossom Is white as white can be!” “Perhaps;”—I carelessly answered, “When we get there, we shall see.”

“And oh, they have so many! Why, every tree must be full!” “Of course,—Spring lasts for ever In heaven,” I said, so dull.

“Do the angels get tired of flowers?” Asked she, with a gentle sigh; “For see, oh see, they are throwing Whole handfuls down from the sky!”

I sprang to the frosted window, To see what the child could mean:— The ground was covered with snow-flakes, And the air was full between.

I kissed my innocent darling, And speedily set her right; While I prayed that her heart might ever Be pure as the snow and as light.

H. E. B.

It Snows!

It snows! it snows! from out the sky The feathered flakes, how fast they fly! Like little birds, that don’t know why, They’re on the chase from place to place, While neither can another trace. It snows! it snows! a merry play Is o’er us on this heavy day.

Like dancers in an airy hall That has not room to hold them all, While some keep up, and others fall, The atoms shift, then thick and swift They drive along to form the drift That, weaving up, so dazzling white, Is like a rising wall of light.

But now the wind comes whistling loud, To snatch and waft it as a cloud, Or giant phantom in a shroud. It spreads; it curls; it mounts and whirls; At length a mighty wing unfurls; And then, away! but where, none knows, Or ever will. It snows! it snows!

To-morrow will the storm be done; Then out will come the golden sun, And we shall see upon the run Before his beams, in sparkling streams, What now a curtain o’er him seems. And thus with life it ever goes— ’Tis shade and shine!—It snows! it snows!

H. F. Gould.