/^N snowbound hinges January's portals 
^^^ Swing open, and I fain would straightway 
see 
On the new year's untrodden way some token 
Of what it bears to me. 
But to my straining sight no sign is offered 
Of what will be — only gray skies and low, 
And boughs that mourn and weary birds ahun- 
gered ; 
Father, may I not know ? 
Then, answering, into my soul's still chambers 
Steal the sweet memories of the Christmas-tide; 
Shall I not trust His providence whose mercies 
Over His works abide ? 
19 
