Christmas Eve

Florence Earle Coates (1850–1927)

Poems — Volume I

WOULD Jesus come to me, Mither,The morrow's Christmas morn,Wearin' the bonny smile he hadThat day that he was born,Around his head a wreath o' light,And not a twig o' thorn,—

I'd open wide the doore, Mither,The way that he'd come in;And not to gi' him pain at all,I'd keep my heart from sin;And all I could to pleasure himI'd right at once begin.

Not in a stall should he be laid,But on me own fine bed;And half me porridge wi' me ownSmall spoon should he be fed,The while his Mither smiled, and sharedWi' you the bit o' bread.

'T would be a time o' joy, Mither!But thinkin' o' they things,'T is may-be well he should be there,Wi' ward o' angel-wings;I doubt they'd miss him so!—the kine,The shepherds, and the kings!