Robert Kirkland Kernighan

(25 April 1854 – 3 November 1926 / Ontario)

What They Found in The Snow


Sifting, sifting, sifting,
Till all the black street was clean ;

Drifting, drifting, drifting,
Till not a dark spot was seen.
And so, from the faraway northward,

Where the pine trees were hooded with white,
The snow that was rending the branches down bending,
Came south to our city last night.

On temple, on dungeon, on den ;
It covered them all just the same ;
To houses of rich, to huts of poor men,
Like a beautiful blessing it came.
And so, from the faraway northward,

The snow came to carpet and wreath ;
The sky like a mother with white seemed to smother
Her beautiful comrade beneath.

Sighing, sighing, sighing ;
I see it as if I were there ;

Dying, dying, dying
The girl with the beautiful hair.
And so, from the faraway northward,

The snow comes to cover and warm,
And there she is sleeping : all stilled is her weeping ;
Alas, that Thy snow should do harm.

Growling, growling, growling,
The wolves 'neath a shadowy pine ;

Prowling, prowling, prowling,
They sniff at the night wind and whine.

And so, from the faraway northward,
The pack comes galloping fast :

Cover her deeper, my beautiful sleeper !
O God ! they have found her at last !

Submitted: Monday, May 14, 2012

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