From the pipes of old Winter, has come a shrill blast, And upon the gray earth a pure mantle is cast. ’Tis a garment of snow-flakes come down from the skies And beneath it, in silence, the patient earth lies. The moaning and rustling of dead leaves is past—The comforter came, they are sheltered at last. O, brown leaves of autumn! ’Tis a wise hand that leads, And he sends what is best, who best knoweth our needs. He gives and he takes, and in taking he gives: From life cometh death, and in dying we live. From mists of the river, the brooklet and sea This beautiful shroud has been woven, and ye Of its coming wist not, for from out the still air It as silently fell as an answer to prayer. O, could ye but creep from your coverlet white And visit your home, a most wonderful sight Would gladden your hearts, for the sun met the snow, And the frost followed on with his cold breath, and lo! Your home is a palace of crystal more bright Than Aladdin beheld with his magical light.