Copyright, 1879, by VA', A

Floating over each drear winter's day; But the tintings of Hope, on this storm-beaten earth, Will melt like the snowflakes away. Turn, then thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss; That world has a pure fount ne'er opened in this. 5. "It snows!" cries the Widow, "O God!" and her sighs . Have stifled the voice of her prayer; Its burden ye'll read in her tear-swollen eyes, On her cheek sunk with ... ................
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