Saturday, November 10, 2012

The First Snowfall and I Am Happy

I don't know how old I was when The First Snowfall was first introduced to me.  My Mom had some poem and reading books which I loved to look through and read aloud.  Particular favorites of mine were this one, Babes in the Wood and Burglar Bill.  Whenever it first snows I always think of that small grave under the snow  ( in this poem) and now that my computer is facing my bedroom window and I am watching the snow fall it came to mind today.

The falling snow also reminds me of the poem that my Mom wrote about sitting and watching us play in the snow and she entitled it.  I Am Happy.  I think we were probably living in our home on the Heights when she wrote that poem because we lived on a hill and very few cars drove up the hill on Kendrick in the winter because it was full of sledders all day long.  She could look out our living room window and watch us sledding down the hill and pulling our sleds back up, laughing and having fun with our friends and brothers and sisters.  It was a magical time in our life.

The First Snowfall   By James Russell Lowell

THE snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.

Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.

From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.

I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.

I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.

Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, 'Father, who makes it snow?'
And I told of the good All-father
Who cares for us here below.

Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.

I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.

And again to the child I whispered,
'The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall! '

Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.

I Am Happy by Ethel Anderson
The snow is falling soft and slow,
Covering all the ground.
Hiding houses, trees and bush,
Falling lazily without sound.

I am snug and warm inside,
Content to do my chores.
Glancing now and then outside
Glad I can stay indoors.

Men must work to make the living
Busy all the day.
But I can stay at home,
And watch the children play.

To be a wife and mother, too,
Is all that I shall ask,
For God is good and God is wise
In giving me this task.

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