~The Beautiful Snow~

The Beautiful Snow (quoted in full from "Poems That Preach", John R. Rice)

In the early part of the Civil War, one dark Saturday morning in the dead of
winter there died at the Commercial Hospital, Cincinnati, a young woman over
whose head only two-and-twenty summers had passed. She had once been
possessed of an enviable share of beauty, had been, as she herself said,
"flattered and sought for the charm of my face," but alas! upon her fair
brow had long been written that terrible word - fallen!
Once the pride of respectable parentage, her first wrong step was the sad
beginning of the "same old story over again," which has been, alas, the
painful history of thousands. Highly educated and accomplished in manner,
she might have shone in a prominent circle. But the evil hour that proved to
be the beginning of her fall was like the door leading out of the innocency
of childhood and modesty of youth, into vice and ruin. And having spent a
young life in disgrace and shame, the poor friendless one died the
melancholy death of a brokenhearted outcast.
Among her personal effects was found, in a manuscript, the "Beautiful Snow,"
which was immediately carried to a gentleman of culture and literary tastes,
who was at that time editor of the National Union. In the columns of that
paper, on the morning following the girl's death, the poem appeared in print
for the first time. When the paper containing the poem came out on Sunday
morning, the body of the victim of sin had not yet received burial. The
attention of one of the first American poets was soon directed to the newly
published lines, who was so taken with their stirring pathos, that he
immediately sought for and followed the corpse to its final resting place.
Such are the plain facts concerning her whose "Beautiful Snow" will long be
regarded as one of the gems of literature.

Oh, the snow! The beautiful snow,
Filling the sky and the earth below!
Over the housetops, over the street,
Over the heads of the people you meet,
        Dancing-
                Flirting-
                        Skimming along.
Beautiful now! It can do no wrong;
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek;
Clinging to lips in frolicsome freak.
Beautiful snow from the heavens 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 its maddening fun;
It plays in its glee with every one.
        Chasing-
                Laughing-
                        Hurrying by,
It lights on the face, and it sparkles the eye;
And playful dogs with a bark and a bound
Snap at the crystals that eddy around.
The town in alive, and its heart is aglow,
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow!

How the wild crowd goes swaying along,
Hailing each other with humor 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 comes from the sky,
As to make on regret to see it lie.
To be trampled and tracked by a thousand feet,
Till it blends with the horrible filth in the street.

Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell;
Fell, like the snowflakes 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 whomever 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 this beautiful snow!

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,
With an eye like its crystals, a heart like its glow;
Once I was loved for my innocent grace-
Flattered and sought for the charm of my face
        Father-
                Mother–
                        Sisters - all:
God and myself I have lost by my fall!
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by
Will keep a wide sweep lest I wonder too nigh;
For of all that is on or about me, I know,
There is nothing that's pure - but 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 nights comes again,
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain;
        Fainting-
                Freezing-
                        Dying alone-
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan
To be heard in the crash of the crazy town
Gone mad in the joy at the snow's coming down;-
To lie 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 th' accursed tree!
His accents of mercy fall soft on thine ear:
"There is mercy for thee"; He will hear thy weak prayer.
"O God, in the stream that for sinners did flow,
Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."

(Last verse written by a servant of the Lord)

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