Christmas Eve, and
twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on
their knees,"
An elder said as we sat
in a flock
By the embers in
hearthside ease.
We pictured the meek
mild creatures where
They dwelt in their
strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one
of us there
To doubt they were
kneeling then.
So fair a fancy few
would weave
In these years! Yet, I
feel,
If someone said on
Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen
kneel,
"In the lonely barton by
yonder coomb
Our childhood used to
know,"
I should go with him in
the gloom,
Hoping it might be so’ |