308 
REV. C T. BROOKS. 
“ Brothers and sisters, we 
Once frolicked, hand in hand, 
Around one sparkling tree; 
But here, in this strange land, 
No one remembers me. 
“ Now all the doors they close 
Against the cold and mo; 
In all there gloomy rows 
Of houses, can there be 
No spot for my repose? 
“ Will no one ope to me? 
Naught will I touch or take; 
I’ll only look and see 
The pretty Christmas cake,— 
The sight my feast shall be.” 
He knocks at gate and door, 
On shutter and on pane; 
Within they laugh the more; 
The poor child knocks in vain, 
His little joints grow sore. 
Each father full of joy, 
H is children eyes with pride * 
The mother hands the toy, 
She thinks of naught beside ; 
None heeds the stranger boy. 
