THE SNOW. TFrom the Mark Tjinn KmrrjuA O

! the snow, the beautiful snow, Filling

the sky and the earth below; Over the

housetops, over the street, Over the

heads of tha people you meet: A/aucing,

Flirting, Skimming along, Beautiful snow

1 it can do nothing wrong, Flying to

kisi a fair lady's cheek; Clinging to

lips in a frolicsome freak; Beautiful

snow from the heavens above, Pure as an

angel and fickle as love 1 0 1 the snow,

the beautiful snow 1 How the flakes

gather and laugh m they go; Whirling

about in its maddening fun, It plays in

its glee with every one. Chasing,

Laughing, Hurrying by, It lights up the

face, and it sparkles the eye ; And even

the dogs, with a bark and a bound. Snap

at the crystals that eddy around j The

town is alive, and its heart in a glow.

To welcome the coming of the beautiful

snow. How the wild crowd goes swaying

along, Hailing each other with humour

and songl How the gay sledges like

meteor!) flash by, Bright for the

moment, then lost to tho eye; Ringing,

Swinging, Dasldng they go Over tha crust

of the beautiful snow; Snow so pure when

it falls from the sky, To be trampled In

mud by the crowd rushing by ; To be

trampled and tracked by the thousands of

faet, Till it blends with tbe horrible

filth or the street. Once I was purt as

the snow— but I fell — Fell, like the

snow-flakes, from Heaven to HellFell, to

be trampled as filth in the streetFell,

to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat ;

riaadlng, Dreading to die, Selling my

soul to whoever would bny. Dealing in

shame for a morsel of bread, Hating the

living, and fearing the dead. Merciful

God! have I fallen so low ? And yet I

was once like this beautiful snow 1 Ono*

I was fair as the beautiful snow, With

an eye like its crystals, a heart like

its glow; Once I was loved for my

innocent grace — Flattered and sought

far the charms of my face. Father,

Mother, Sister, and all, God, and

myself. I have lost by my fall ; The

veriest wretch that rood shlrering by

Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too

nigh ; For of all that is on or about

me, I kno* Thara Is nothing that's pure

but the beautiful snow. How strange it

should be that this beautiful snow

Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to

go ; If the snow and the tee struck my

desperate bralu ! How strange it would

be when the night comes again Fainting,

, Freezing, Dying alone I Too wicked for

prayer, to* weak for ray moan To be

heard In the crash of the crazy town.

Gene mad In their joy at the snow's

coming down ; To lie and to die in my

terrible woe, 'With a bed and a shroud

of the beautiful snow I