’TIS Sweet, O God, to Steal Away,

’TIS sweet, O God, to steal away,    Before the morning sun is high, Upon some frosty winter’s day,     When not a cloud is on the sky, And all the world is white below,

Knee-deep with freshly-fallen snow,— To steal into the silent woods    Before the trees are quite awake, And watch them in their snowy hoods    A rough-and-ready toilet make,

When in the little breezes creep And rouse them gently from their sleep. ’Tis sweet, O God, to kneel among    The snow-bent trees, and lift the mind Above the boughs where birds have sung

Above the pathways of the wind,   Into the very heart of space,— To where the angels see Thy face. And while my spirit mounts in prayer,    So keen becomes its mystic sight,

That through the sunshine in the air     I see a new and heavenly light, And all the bowed woods seem to be Acknowledging the Trinity