The flakes soon hid that gift of ours

Beneath their pall.

Under the white, white flakes the rose,

Crumpled, tawdry and red;

Hinting the pity which all men need

When they are dead.

The dogs still whined as they dragged the sled

To where the spruces dream;

And there we left her, a wayward child,

At rest in Him.

[Pg 12]

[Pg 12]

 Two Quests

Every day I watch men go

Up the trail

Seeking gold. It is a show

Worth the watching; much I know

About the game.

In the dead of night they creep

Past my door;

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