THE SNOW-MAN.

    The fields are white with the glittering snow,
    Save down by the brook, where the alders grow,
    And hang their branches, black and bare,
    O’er the stream that wanders darkly there;
    Or where the dry stalks of the summer past
    Stand shivering now in the winter blast;
    Or where the naked woodlands lie,
    Bearded and brown against the sky: 
    But over the pasture, and meadow, and hill,
    The snow is lying, all white and still.

    But a loud and merry shout I hear,
    Ringing and joyous, fresh and clear,
    Where a troop of rosy boys at play
    Awaken the echoes far away. 
    They have moulded the snow with hand and spade,
    And a strange, misshapen image made: 
    A Caliban in fiendish guise,
    With mouth agape and staring eyes,
    And monstrous limbs, that might uphold
    The weight that Atlas bore, of old;
    Like shapes that our troubled dreams distress,
    Ghost-like and grim in their ugliness;
    A huge and hideous human form,
    Born of the howling wind and storm: 
    And yet those boyish sculptors glow
    With the pride of a Phidias or Angelo.

    Come hither and listen to me, my son,
    And a lesson of life I’ll read thereon. 
    You have made a man of the snow-bank there;
    He stands up yet in the frosty air: 
    Go out from your home, so bright and warm,
    And throw yourself on his frozen form;
    Wind him around with your soft caress;
    Tenderly up to his bosom press;
    Ask him for sympathy, love, and cheer;
    Plead for yourself with prayer and tear;
    Tell him you hope and dream and grieve;
    Beg him to comfort and relieve: 
    The form that you press will be icy cold;
    A frozen heart to your breast you hold,
    That turns into stone the tears you weep;
    And the chill of his touch through your soul will creep. 
    So over the field of life are spread
    Men who have hearts as cold and dead,—­
    Who nothing of sympathy know, nor love,—­
    To whom your prayers would as fruitless prove
    As those that you now might go and say
    To the grim snow-man that you made to-day.

    But soon the soft and gentle spring
    The balmy southern breeze will bring;
    The snow, that shrouds the landscape o’er,
    Will melt away, and be seen no more;
    The gladsome brook shall rippling run,
    ’Neath the alders greening in the sun;
    The grass shall spring, and the birds shall come,
    In the verdant woodlands to find a home;
    And the softened heart of your man of snow
    Shall bid the blue violets blossom below. 
    Oh, let us hope that time may bring
    To earth some sweet and gentle spring,
    When human hearts shall thaw, and when
    The ice shall melt away from men;
    And where the hearts now frozen stand,
    Love then shall blossom o’er all the land!