The Treasures of the Snow

Oh man, that liftest up thy heart

And boasteth in thy way,

Dost though know whose design thou are,

Who formed thee from the clay?

By whose word that first morning’s dew

Did cause green herbs to grow?

And hast though entered in unto

The treasures of the snow?

And canst thou tell whence falls the rain,

Who formed the frost and hail?

How grows the grass on yonder plain,

Where no man doth travail?

And where th Gypsy wind has been

And where it next shall blow?

And hast though ented in and seen

The treasures of the snow?

And though who reasons with surmise

And treats His Word with scorn.

Canst thou command the sun to rise

And cause the day to dawn?

And hast thou searched the sea’s

Deep springs,

Their secrets do you know?

Canst thou expain such hidden things

As treasures of the snow?

Yet when thy errant ways are kissed

By white-clad flakes from Heaven,

And thou dost stumble in the mist

And to thy knees are driven;

Wilt thou not seek to understand

The lesson He would show,

And search out by His guiding hand

The treasures of the snow?

For when the night’s bleak, fearsome storm

Doth to the morning yield,

And dancing sunbeams gently warm

They white-clad vale and field,

With radiance bright as angel’s wings

All nature then doth glow,

And promise fresh awakenings

From treasures in the snow.

It is in mercy not in wrath,

By plan, not skittish whim,

That He doth shroud your earthly path,

That you may search for Him.

To cover all thy scarlet sin,

His precious blood did flow,

Oh, seek His cleansing power within

The treasures of the snow.