Classic Poem

As soft as the footsteps of angels,
And clothed in their pure ermine dress,
The snow cometh down from the heavens,
Our cold earth to shield and to bless.

It covers the ground with a mantle,
The frost-bitten garden it shields,
And hides from marauding north-wind blasts
The treasures of wheat in the fields.

The rain-drops fall soft in the Summer
From the winged clouds flying above,
Like gems from the bosoms of angels,—
Each drop filled with light and with love.

Then back the earth answers to heaven
For the snow, and blessed pure rain,
By bringing forth bread to the eater,
And harvests of ripe golden grain.

And so shall the Word of the Lord be
That cometh from heaven to men;
Without the thanksgiving of millions
It shall not return there again.

Its mantle of love in the Winter,
In Summer its sweet falling rain,
Shall bring forth for man a sure harvest,
More precious than ripe golden grain.

A multitude no man can number
Of sheaves shall be carried above,
And the glorified Lord of the Harvest
Shall fill all his garners of love.

That time shall men walk with the angels,
On the high hills of God they shall roam,
And the angels and men sing together
The hymn of the great Harvest-Home.