FROST PICTURES.
STANDING at the window,
On a winter's day,
Chattering like blackbirds;
Wonder what they say.
Frost-king's finest tracery,
Clinging everywhere.
Often I have studied,
O'er these pictures fair.
And their very mystery
Almost gave me pain.
Will these child interpreters
Make the matter plain?
"This is Grim the giant;
Isn't he so tall?
It must hurt him badly,
If he chanced to fall."
"These are reindeer sledges.
See the Esquimaux,
Hidden by their fur coats,
All but eyes and nose."
"That is baby Moses
In the little ark "—
"Queer how all these came here,
When it was so dark."
"There two boys are—see them!
Playing teeter-totter."
"Oh, I've found some ducklings,
Swimming in the water."
"This is YE sop's satyr.
See blows hot and cold.
If I hadn't known him,
Guess you couldn't told."
"Those are stars like heaven,
And they twinkle—why,
If you had your paints here,
You could blue the sky."
"See those lovely angels,
Resting by the trees."
"Do you 'spect we'll want to,
When we're made like these?"
Pass the hours so rapidly,
While the sun's bright beams,
Sweep the mimic art gallery,
Into tiny streams.
Now a small child's standing,
Wonder in his eyes,
Vain regret commingling
With the sad surprise.
"See! The window's crying."
(Sage of five brief years)
"All our pictures melted;
Nothing left but tears."
O my precious ones, ye bring to my mind,
Bright scenes of the past I shall no more find.
I once traced the frostwork as you have done,
But it melted, and went as yours has gone.
As your youthful days go drifting away,
Should your pictures melt as they do today,
May the love of God shine through the years,
Making a rainbow of all your tears.
When life's journey is o'er, may we reach that home,
Where hope cannot die, and no shadows come;
Where the treasures we lose in the river of Time,
Shall be ours for aye, in a changeless clime.
MARY MARTIN