With her serious, thoughtful look,
To the Christmas story her mother read
Out of the good old Book.
"I'll tell thee, Ruth!" her mother cried,
Herself scarce more than a girl,
As she smoothed her little daughter's hair,
Lest it straggle out into a curl,
"If thy stent be spun each day this week,
And thou toil like the busy bee,
A Christmas present on Christmas Day