O softly falling flakes of snow
That fill the wintry air,--
A thickening cloud on every side,
Each flake a wonder rare.
[Illustration: {A WOMAN AND CHILD LOOK OUT OF A WINDOW.}]
"Are they from trees in Silver Land?"
My child is asking me.
He claps his hands, he laughs, he begs,
"One leaf from silver tree."
Such questions as he asks in vain
About the leaf-like snow!
He might as well talk of the tides
That strangely come and go.
"Who plants those fairy trees?" he asks,
"With tops that reach so high?"
Oh, answer, Garden of Delight,
All in the cloudy sky!
"Who shakes those trees and sends their leaves
On field and wood and town?
Is it the Gardener living there,
Or winds that blow them down?"
O child, look up and see yourself,
The clouds are Silver Land.
Who made those flakes, He scatters them;
They fall at His command.
They fall, they melt, they come again.
And His the gardener's hand
That gently shakes the silver trees
Which grow in Silver Land.