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<h5 id="id00416">A SNOW STORM.</h5>
<p id="id00417">I hear the wintry wind again,<br/>
I see the blinding snow,<br/>
Pil'd high, by eddying winds, in heaps,<br/>
No matter where I go.<br/></p>
<p id="id00418">The storm is raging hard, without;<br/>
But let us not complain,<br/>
For fiercely tho' it rages now,<br/>
A calm will come again.<br/></p>
<p id="id00419">And, though the wildly raging storm<br/>
Makes all things bleak and bare,<br/>
Beside the fire we brave it well,<br/>
And closer draw our chair.<br/></p>
<p id="id00420">In social fellowship, our hearts<br/>
With kindly thoughts grow warm;<br/>
Then is there not a pleasant side,<br/>
E'en to a raging storm?<br/></p>
<p id="id00421">And when the angry storm has calm'd,<br/>
As ev'ry storm must do,<br/>
Then, sure, the tempest's handiwork,<br/>
Has pleasant features, too.<br/></p>
<p id="id00422">An artist's eye would look around,<br/>
Upon these calmer days,<br/>
And view the pure white heaps of snow,<br/>
With pleas'd and puzzl'd gaze.<br/></p>
<p id="id00423">Like purest marble, deftly carv'd,<br/>
They stretch o'er vale and hill,<br/>
Fair monuments, not made by man,<br/>
But rear'd by nature's skill.<br/></p>
<p id="id00424">The sweeping curve, the graceful arch,<br/>
The line so firm and free;<br/>
A skilful sculptor well might say:<br/>
"Can this teach aught to me?"<br/></p>
<p id="id00425">The trees are rob'd in purest white,<br/>
And gleaming atoms shine<br/>
From out the snow, beneath the sun,<br/>
Like stones from Ophir's mine.<br/></p>
<p id="id00426">The merry shouts of busy men<br/>
Sound, as they dig the snow;<br/>
And, when the way is clear, the bells<br/>
With joyful jingle, go.<br/></p>
<p id="id00427">Then who shall say the tempest's work<br/>
Brings more of pain than joy;<br/>
Or that the evil things, to us<br/>
Are pain, without alloy?<br/></p>
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