Purity

The Beautiful Snow

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow,

Filling the sky and earth below,

Over the housetops, over the street,

Over the heads of people you meet;

    Dancing – Flirting – Skimming along!

Beautiful snow! It can do no wrong;

Flying to kiss a fair lady’s cheek,

Clinging to lips in frolicksome freak;

Beautiful snow from Heaven above,

Pure as an angel, gentle as love!



Oh, the snow, the beautiful snow,

How the flakes gather and laugh as they go,

Whirling about in maddening fun;

Purest of all things under the Sun,

    Chasing – Laughing – Hurrying by,

It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye;

And the dogs with a bark and a bound

Snap at the crystals as they eddy around;

The town is alive and its heart is aglow,

To welcome the coming of beautiful snow!

How wild the crowd goes swaying along,

Hailing each other with humour and song;

How the gay sleighs like meteors flash by,

Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye;

    Ringing – Swinging – Dashing they go.

Over the crest of the beautiful snow;

Snow so pure when it falls from the sky,

As to make one regret to see it lie,

To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet,

Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street.



Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell,

Fell like the snow flakes from heaven to hell;

Fell to be trampled as filth in the street,

Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat;

    Pleading – Cursing – Dreading to die,

Selling my soul to whoever would buy;

Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread,

Hating the living and fearing the dead.

Merciful God! have I fallen so low!

And yet I was once like the beautiful snow.



Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,

With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its glow;

Once I was loved for my innocent grace –

Flattered and sought for the charms of my face!

    Father – Mother – Sisters all,

God and myself I have lost by my fall;

The veriest wretch that goes shivering by,

Will make a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh;

For all that is on or above me I know,

There is nothing so pure as the beautiful snow.



How strange it should be that this beautiful snow,

Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!

How strange it would be when the night comes again,

If the snow and ice struck my desperate brain,

    Fainting – Freezing – Dying alone,

Too wicked for prayers, too weak for a moan

To be heard in the streets of the crazy town;

Gone mad in the joy of snow coming down;

To be and to die in my terrible woe,

With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow.



Helpless and foul as the trampled snow,

Sinner, despair not! Christ stoopeth low

To rescue the soul that is lost in sin,

And raise it to life and enjoyment again,

    Groaning – Bleeding – Dying for thee,

The Crucified hung on the cursed tree!

His accents of mercy fall soft on thine ear,

“Is there mercy for me?  Will He heed my weak prayer?”

O God! In the stream that for sinners did flow

Wash me, and I shall be brighter than snow.      

This poem was written by a young girl in her early 20's back around the year of 1861 or so. The story behind the poem is told that she had lost her purity and was devastated over it. She was found near death lying in the snow and was rushed to the hospital where she died shortly thereafter. This poem was said to be found among her possessions.