GRANITE HILLS IN WINTER.
These hills, so magnificent, lofty, and great!
The boast of New Hampshire—the Old Granite State!
I have seen them, dear children, and much I admire
These beautiful hills in their wintry attire.
The Ice King has laid his cold hand on the rills,
They cannot now playfully leap down the hills;
Snowy mountain and valley alike are made hoary;
Jack Frost reigns triumphant, alone in his glory.
One sees, now and then, a lonely snow-bird,
But old Robin red-breast no longer is heard
Warbling out a glad song to the praise of her Maker,
She has gone where the Ice King cannot overtake her.
Who guides the dear birds, that they never get lost
When seeking a home to escape from the frost?
Our Father in Heaven—he guides them aright,
Till away in the bright, sunny South they alight.
So long as these lofty old hills shall remain,
And spring shall renew their bright verdure again,
Our loving, kind Father shall still fondly care
For the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air.
Not a robin or sparrow can fall to the ground;
Not a raven may cry but he heareth the sound.
Then will not “Our Father in Heaven” be nigh,
And bless us, dear children, when we, too, shall cry?
Oh, yes! Are ye not of more value than they?
In accents most tender, we hear Jesus say;
And I’m sure, if God takes such kind care of a bird,
Our prayers, if sincere, cannot fail to be heard.
THE LAKE—ISLES—NOTCH—WHITE MOUNTAINS, ETC.
If a map of the Old Granite State you will take,
Near the borders of Maine you will find that large lake,
The Winnipisogee,—so lovely to view
Embosoming islands most beautiful, too.