Of every deed that his wax was sealing,
The closing was firm and fast.
The prick of his steel never caused a feeling
Of pain to the toe, and his skill in heeling
Was perfect, and true to the last!
Whenever you gave him a foot to measure.
With gentle and skilful hand,
He took its proportions, with looks of pleasure,
As if you were giving the costliest treasure,
Or dubbing him lord of the land.
And many a one did he save from getting
A fever, or cold or cough:
For many a sole did he save from wetting,
When, whether in water or snow 'twas setting,
His shoeing would keep them off
And when he had done with his making and mending,
With hope and a peaceful breast,
Resigning his awl, as his thread was ending,
He slid from his bench, to the grave descending,
As high as a king to rest!
=The Snow-Storm=
It snows! it snows! from out the sky
The feathered flakes, how fast they fly,
Like little birds, that don't know why
They're on the chase, from place to place,
While neither can the other trace!
It snows, it snows! a merry play
Is o'er us, on this sombre day.
As dancers in time's airy hall,
That not a moment holds them all,
While some keep up, and others fall,
The atoms shift; then, thick and swift,
They drive along to form the drift,
That weaving up, so dazzling white,
Is rising like a wall of light.
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