On this waste of sparkle and waste of snow
’Neath skies aflame with a crimson glow;
The feet of the Christ-child softly fall,
And Christmas dawn brings cheer to all.
SECOND CHILD.
’Tis the homestead low in the quiet vale
Where the farm-dog follows Dobbin’s trail
To the pasture lot, now cold and bare,
And sniffs with glee the snow-filled air.
In this home of busy household joys,