The unhurried benison of snow

This phrase popped into my mind. I hadn't a clue from where, but the miracle of Google unearthed a short story by Arthur C Clarke entitled 'If I Forget Thee, O Earth'.

A young boy, living in a colony of scientists on the far side of the moon, is taken by his father to see the war-ravaged world to which he will never return.

“It was beautiful, and it called to his heart across the abyss of space. There in that shining crescent were all the wonders that he had never known — the hues of sunset skies, the moaning of the sea on pebbled shores, the patter of falling rain, the unhurried benison of snow”