They melt beneath the sunbeam,

They sink into the ground,

And where they vanish, by-and-by,

Sweet flowers will be found,

And I am told they moisten

And make the flowrets grow;

So, welcome, very welcome,

Are the gentle flakes of snow.

Poor lammie! what a pity

One little foot is hurt,

And the face that was so pretty

Is covered with the dirt!

But up, and never mind it;

A little brook is near—

Among the grass you'll find it—

The water's cool and clear.

I guess you will feel better—

Step in and take a drink;

That shallow brook of water,

With flowers around the brink.

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