On window panes; of clean, fresh, fallen snow;
Of white, white sunlight on the ice-draped trees.
Winter, though rude, is delicate in art.

Morning! The word itself is beautiful,
And the young hours have many gifts to give
That feed the soul with beauty. He who keeps
His days for labour and his nights for sleep
Wakes conscious of the joy it is to live,
And brings from that mysterious Land of Dreams
A sense of beauty that illumines earth.
Morning! The word itself is beautiful.

The search for beauty is the search for God.



THE INVISIBLE HELPERS



There are, there are
Invisible Great Helpers of the race.
Across unatlased continents of space,
From star to star.
In answer to some soul's imperious need,
They speed, they speed.

When the earth-loving young are forced to stand
Upon the border of the Unknown Land,