Red Riding-Hood

On the wide lawn the snow lay deep,     Ridged oer with many a drifted heap;     The wind that through the pine-trees sung     The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung;     While, through the window, frosty-starred,     Against the sunset purple barred,     We saw the sombre crow flap by,     The hawks gray fleck along the sky,     The crested blue-jay flitting swift,     The squirrel poising on the drift,     Erect, alert, his broad gray tail     Set to the north wind like a sail.     It came to pass, our little lass,     With flattened face against the glass,     And eyes in which the tender dew     Of pity shone, stood gazing through     The narrow space her rosy lips     Had melted from the frosts eclipse     Oh, see, she cried, the poor blue-jays!     What is it that the black crow says?     The squirrel lifts his little legs     Because he has no hands, and begs;     Hes asking for my nuts, I know     May I not feed them on the snow?     Half lost within her boots, her head     Warm-sheltered in her hood of red,     Her plaid skirt close about her drawn,     She floundered down the wintry lawn;     Now struggling through the misty veil     Blown round her by the shrieking gale;     Now sinking in a drift so low     Her scarlet hood could scarcely show     Its dash of color on the snow.     She dropped for bird and beast forlorn     Her little store of nuts and corn,     And thus her timid guests bespoke     Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,     Come, black old crow, come, poor blue-jay,     Before your suppers blown away     Dont be afraid, we all are good;     And Im mammas Red Riding-Hood!     O Thou whose care is over all,     Who heedest even the sparrows fall,     Keep in the little maidens breast     The pity which is now its guest!     Let not her cultured years make less     The childhood charm of tenderness,     But let her feel as well as know,     Nor harder with her polish grow!     Unmoved by sentimental grief     That wails along some printed leaf,     But, prompt with kindly word and deed     To own the claims of all who need,     Let the grown womans self make good     The promise of Red Riding-Hood