THE TREES IN SILVER LAND.

O softly falling flakes of snow That fill the wintry air,— A thickening cloud on every side, Each flake a wonder rare.

“Are they from trees in Silver Land?” My child is asking me. He claps his hands, he laughs, he begs, “One leaf from silver tree.” Such questions as he asks in vain About the leaf-like snow! He might as well talk of the tides That strangely come and go. “Who plants those fairy trees?” he asks, “With tops that reach so high?” Oh, answer, Garden of Delight, All in the cloudy sky! “Who shakes those trees and sends their leaves On field and wood and town? Is it the Gardener living there, Or winds that blow them down?” O child, look up and see yourself, The clouds are Silver Land. Who made those flakes, He scatters them; They fall at His command. They fall, they melt, they come again. And His the gardener’s hand That gently shakes the silver trees Which grow in Silver Land. Rev. Edward A. Rand.