Jessie (Goodwin) Moore

O SPOTLESS guest of winter, from what deep

Of purity dost thou thy mantle bring?

Broad is thy mission, for thy snowy wing

Above all nature folds; thy white hands sweep

In equal benison o’er all; they heap

Both hill and hollow; o’er the woodland fling

New foliage, delicate and light; till spring

They cheer the garden where the roses sleep.

Before thy coming earth seemed dark with flaws,

But now thy generous kindness maketh rare

The beautiful, and over blackness draws

Its own perfection, till all earth is fair.

O teacher fair! so hast thou shown to me

The beauty and the grace of charity.