First Snow

Whose child I am I think I know, yet oft I long for Him to show His face upon this wasteland, cheer my dearth: and then He sends the snow To cool my tongue. I bend my ear to hear Him who holds this trembling sphere. He whispers in each downy flake: His still, small voice, it draws me near. Just as my children gently make a man of snow, so He doth take my life. He means my soul to keep, for on this one He’s set His stake. So though the miles be dark and deep, though sin and sorrow...