Christmas Eve

Only a tiny stocking hung in the fire light warm,
Only a weary pilgrim breasting the tide of the storm;
Only an anxious watcher piercing the heart of the gloom;
Only a prayerful whisper breaking the calm of the room.

Time creeps slowly forward while the swirling snow flakes fall
Upon field, and hill, and highway, and night enfolds them all;
But hark! a voice is shouting, then a welcome step draws near,
And the angel:--Joy, has banished the ghosts of doubt, of fear.

Only a sleepy fairy who trembles to behold
A host of precious trophies with a wonderment untold,
But the treasure highest valued, the pure, the perfect prize
Is love, the true love beaming from her own dear father’s eyes.