today,
Or this were very long ago,
There wouldn't be a winter time
Nor any cold or snow.

I'd run out through the garden gate,
And down along the pasture walk;
And off beside the cattle barns
I'd hear a kind of gentle talk.

I'd move the heavy iron chain
And pull away the wooden pin;
I'd push the door a little bit
And tiptoe very softly in.

The pigeons and the yellow hens
And all the cows would stand away;
Their eyes would open wide to see
A lady in the manger hay,

If this were very long ago
And Bethlehem were here today.

And Mother held my hand and smiled--
I mean the lady would--and she
Would take the woolly blankets off
Her little boy so I could see.

His shut-up eyes would be asleep,
And he would look like our John,
And he would be all crumpled too,
And have a pinkish color on.

I'd watch his breath go in and out.
His little clothes would all be white.
I'd slip my finger in his hand
To feel how he could hold it tight.

And she would smile and say, "Take care,"
The mother, Mary, would, "Take care";
And I would kiss his little hand
And touch his hair.

While Mary put the blankets back
The gentle talk would soon begin.
And when I'd tiptoe softly out
I'd meet the wise men going in.

PEOPLE GOING BY

Before they come I hear their talk
And hear their feet go on the walk.

Some go fast and some go slow,
And some of them I almost know.

In mornings they are going down
To see somebody in the town.

Or Mrs. Warner hurries past;
She has to go and come back fast.

She walks by quick and will not stop,
To go to the church with the cross on top.

I think she goes there every day
To take her rosary and pray.

And one of them is Mr. Jim--
And the big white dog that follows him.

And one is lame; that's Uncle Mells;
He takes off warts by mumbling words,
And he can lay on spells.

Or maybe night is almost come,
And Miss Jane Anne is going home.

And by her side walks Mr. Paul;
They go along with far-off looks
And hardly ever talk at all.

Or Murry's child comes up this way
To carry milk to poor Miss May

That lives in Wells's other house,
Or Joe is driving home his cows.

And some go fast and some go slow,
And some of them I almost know.

I can feel them almost speak to me,
When they pass by our tree.

BABES IN THE WOODS

The two little children that died long ago
Away in the woods on the top of a hill--
And a good little robin that knew all about it
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