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.

But now the wind comes, whistling loud,