She has seized the tongs, she has snatched a brand,
And waved it abroad at the door!
Through the drifting snow a form she sees—
He is safe, in a moment more;
Safe—and afar are those shuddering cries,
And the baleful lights of the wolves’ red eyes!
Thus did it chance on a Christmas Eve,
In the days that are long since fled;
But a light so brave, and a gleam so true,
Through the waste of the years is shed,