When all at once a happy light
Came into his eyes so blue,
And lighted up his face with smiles,
As he thought what he could do.
Next day when the postman's letters
Came from all over the land;
Came one for the Christ-child, written
In a child's poor trembling hand.
You may think he was sorely puzzled
What in the world to do;
So he went to the Burgomaster,
As the wisest man he knew.
And when they opened the letter,
They stood almost dismayed
That such a little child should dare
To ask the Lord for aid.
Then the Burgomaster stammered,
And scarce knew what to speak,
And hastily he brushed aside
A drop, like a tear, from his cheek.
Then up he spoke right gruffly,
And turned himself about:
"This must be a very foolish boy,
And a small one, too, no doubt."
But when six rosy children
That night about him pressed,
Poor, trusting little Gottlieb
Stood near him, with the rest.
And he heard his simple, touching prayer,
Through all their noisy play;
Though he tried his very best to put
The thought of him away.
A wise and learned man was he,
Men called him good and just;
But his wisdom seemed like foolishness,
By that weak child's simple trust.
Now when the morn of Christmas came
And the long, long week was done,
Poor Gottlieb, who scarce could sleep,
Rose up before the sun,