In the stillness of the night,
when the fire is burning low,
and its bright and orange light
dwindles to an ashen glow,
out of doors the blowing snow
shrouds the wintry world with white,
swirling through the streetlight’s glow
and disappearing into night.
Are we like the blowing snow,
sparkling briefly in the light,
then carried off by winds that blow
and disappearing into night?
Within myself I have faith’s light,
A higher truth that answers “No.”
There is more to life than night,
Than silent cold, I feel, I know.