WHERE doth the snow-bird sleep

The stormy winter's night comes on apace;

Thick falls the snow—knows it a sheltered place,

Where it can snugly creep,

And, safe and warm, its dusky pinions fold?

Where doth He hide his snow-birds from the cold?

All day the dark-winged flock,

About my window hopping, chirping, come,

Asking of Tinylu, a seed, a crumb,

From his abundant stock.

With small, faint song,

With twitter, and with low and pleasant hum,

Hungry and bold, nimble and brave, they come,

Swept with the snow along.

They frolic in the snow,—

They dance with the white flakes,

And every small foot makes

In the pure covering its tiny track,

While stars and spangles deck each little back.

They frolic in the snow

That falls so thickly round

O'er all the frozen ground;

But do the gay ones know

Where they this freezing night may hide away,

And all securely until morning stay?

Close to the glass they creep:

In at the panes they peep,

Holding strange Masonry with Tinylu;

And their enticing ways,

And all their antic plays,

Are full in the lone captive's charmed view.

They see the shadows fall,

And to each other call,

And Tinylu replies and tries to go

Out to the hardy brood,

With whom he shares his food,—

The little dusky elves that haunt the snow.

Eagerly, but in vain,

He smites the window-pane.

O foolish little bird, where wouldst thou fly

Thy nest is safe and warm,

Nought shall my birdie harm,

But out in the cold snow he soon would die.

Where do the snow-birds sleep?

Where doth He safely keep

Hi, hardy, happy little winter sprites?

I know their haunts by day—

But see—they haste away—

Where does He shelter them these stormy nights?



Augusta Moore.