328 WINTER. 



The land of ice, the land of snow, 



The land that hath no summer flowers, 



Where never living creature stood ; 



The wild, dim, polar solitude : 



How different from this land of ours ! 



Walk now among the forest trees, 



Saidst thou that they were stripp'd and bare ? 

 Each heavy bough is bending down 

 With snowy leaves and flowers the crown 

 Which Winter regally doth wear. 



'Tis well thy summer garden ne'er 



Was lovelier with its birds and flowers, 

 Than is this silent place of snow, 

 With feathery branches drooping low, 

 Wreathing around thee shadowy bowers ! 



'Tis night ! Oh now come forth to gaze 

 Upon the heavens, intense and bright ! 

 Look on yon myriad worlds, and say, 

 Though beauty dwelleth with the day, 

 Is not God manifest by night ? 



Thou that createdst all ! Thou fountain 

 Of our sun's light who dwellest far 

 From man, beyond the farthest star, 

 Yet ever present ; who doth heed 

 Our spirits in their human need, 

 We bless thee, Father, that we are ! 



We bless thee for our inward life 

 For its immortal date decreeing ; 



For that which comprehendeth thee, 



A spark of thy divinity, 



Which is the being of our being ! 



