The keen, clear air—the splendid sight—
We waken to a world of ice;
Where all things are enshrined in light,
As by some genie's quaint device.
'Tis winter's jubilee this day
His stores their countless treasures yield;
See how the diamond glances play,
In ceaseless blaze, from tree and field.
The cold, bare spot where late we ranged,
The naked woods, are seen no more;
This earth to fairy land is changed,
With glittering silver sheeted o'er.
O God of Nature! with what might
Of beauty, shower'd on all below,
Thy guiding power would lead aright,
Earth's wanderer all Thy love to know!
Andrews Norton.
[AN OLD MAN'S VISIONS IN THE FLAMES.]
By JOS. CULLEN SAWTELL.
Beside a simple hearth I sit alone
To watch the plumes of smoke and fitful blaze,
And here reflecting how the time has flown,
I see in flames the sights of bygone days:
I'm sixty-six, with hair of purest white,
My brow is wrinkled in a thousand creeks,
And dim is now what once was clearest sight,
And hollow what were round and ruddy cheeks.