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THE SNOWDROP.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


98

THE SNOWDROP.

I

Shrouded in snow, thy tiny form
Starts from its parent earth;
Thy beauty braves the howling storm,
It heralds forth thy birth.

II

Sweet flower!—a message dost thou bear
From God's high throne above,
In answer to some mourner's prayer,
A token of His love?

III

How like a tear art thou, sweet flower!—
The tear young joy would fling
O'er hearts, which, bright in beauty's bower,
Gleam o'er love's offering.

IV

Thou little pensive fairy, hail!
And bid us not despair;
Where hearts are sad and cheeks are pale,
Come!—shed thy blossoms there.