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Through the Snow to Church

The Sculptor Boy.

C HISEL in hand, stood a sculptor boy, With his marble block before him; And his face lit up with a smile of joy As an angel dream passed o'er him.

I He carved that dream on the yielding stone, With many a sharp incision; In Heaven's own light the sculptor shone- He had caught that angel vision.

Sculptors of life are we, as we stand With our lives uncarved before us, Waiting the hour, when, at God's command, Our life-dream passes o'er us.

Let us carve it, then, on the yielding stone, With many a sharp incision; Its heavenly beauty shall be our own- Our lives, that angel vision.

My Bird's Nest.

MUST tell you a little story (True, every word),