FLAKES of snow, with sails so white,

Drifting down the wintry skies,

Tell us where your route begins,

Say which way your harbor lies?

"In the clouds, the roomy clouds,

Arching earth with shadowy dome,

There's the port from which we sail,

There is tiny snow-flake's home."

And the cargo that you take

From those cloudy ports above—

Is it always meant to bless,

Sent in anger or in love?

"Warmth for all the tender roots,

Warmth for every living thing,

Water for the river's flow,

This the cargo that we bring."

Who's the Master that you serve,

Bids you lift your tiny sails,

Brings you safely to the earth,

Guides you through the wintry

"He who tells the birds to sing,

He who sends the April flowers,

He who ripens all the fruit,

That great Master, he is ours."



Edward A. Rand,



in S. S. Gem.