GOLDEN SNOW.
The snow-flakes were falling all over the northern Gold Land, for it was mid-winter. Against the ice-bound shore the angry breakers of the great Pacific dashed, and the wind whistled like a trumpeter.
A warm fire burned on the hearth of the fisherman’s hut, and with a red face the good-wife bent over it, preparing the supper. The old man stood by the window looking out, and thinking his poor thoughts of the wind and the tide, which ended always with the same refrain, “God help us fisher folk!” Suddenly he gave a quick start, exclaiming—“Hark! wife; what is that?”
The old woman dropped the wooden spoon, and listened to the clear voices that rose above the storm:—
“Golden Snow! Golden Snow!
To and fro;
Over her little heart
We blow,
Our dear little sister,