Christmas Roses.
May Riley Smith.
I gave into a brown and tirèd hand
A stem of roses, sweet and creamy-white.
I know the bells rang merry tunes that night,
For it was Christmas time throughout the land,
And all the skies were hung with lanterns bright.
The brown hand held my roses gracelessly;
They seemed more white within their dusky vase;
A scarlet wave suffused the woman’s face.
“My hands so seldom hold a flower,” said she,
“I think the lovely things feel out of place.”
O tirèd hands that are unused to flowers;
O feet that tread on nettles all the way!
God grant His peace may fold you round to-day,
And cling in fragrance when these Christmas hours,
With all their mirthfulness, have passed away!