Christmas Roses

Christmas Roses by Lizzie Lawson and Robert Elice Mack
Christmas Roses

A BUNCH of Christmas Roses, dear, To greet my fairest child, I plucked them in my garden where The drifting snow lay piled.
I cannot bring thee violets dear, Or cowslips growing wild, Or daisy chain for thee to wear, For thee to wear, my child.
For all the grassy meadows near Are clad with snow, my child; Through all the days of winter drear No ray of sun has smiled.
I plucked this bunch of verses, dear, From out my garden wild, I plucked them in the winter drear For you, my fairest child, Your wet and wintry hours to cheer, They’re Christmas Roses, child.

I DON’T believe that Santa Claus will come to you and me,” Said little crippled Nell, “a’cause, we are so poor you see; And then I don’t believe the ‘chimbley’s’ wide enough for him, D’ye think that Santa Claus will come, when all the lights are dim.” “Of course he comes to every one, dear, whether rich or poor; Now go to bed dear Nell,” said Nan, “he’ll come to-night I’m sure.”

I don’t know if by chimney or if by stair he crept, But sure enough he visited the room where Nelly slept. He brought a golden orange, and a monkey red and blue, That climbed a little wooden stick in a way I couldn’t do. He hung them in Nell’s stocking, and Nan was right, be sure, That Santa Claus loves every one however rich or poor.