Snow — An Acrostic.
Swept from out the heavenly streets,
Now our lower air it greets!
Oh! how pure must be the world
Whence such spotless dust is hurled.
Strange! that in those sun-warmed skies,
Nestling in some white clouds side;
Ocean drops should turn to ice,
Whitened, brightened, purified!
So, if hearts of mortal mould,
Near His throne aspire to rise,
Ore of earth must change to gold,
Would it gleam in Paradise.
[Alb. Eve. Jour.
Watertown Chronicle (Watertown, Wisconsin) Jan 17, 1849