THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 
309 
M Dear holy Christ, save thee, 
No father and no mother 
Have I on earth ;—0, be 
My Saviour and my brother, 
For none remembers me I” 
Numbed with the biting blast, 
He rubs his little hands, 
Hugs himself tight and fast, 
And in the bye-lane stands, 
His eyes to Heaven upcast. 
Lo ' with a little light, 
Comes plodding up the street, 
All dressed in spotless white, 
Another child :—how sweet 
His accents pierce the night I 
I am the holy child 
Jesus, and once, like thee, 
I roamed through cold and wild j 
Poor wanderer, come to me, 
For I am meek and mild ! 
“I will not scorn thy prayer; 
The poor I love to bless, 
And grant my tender care 
Here in the streets no less 
Than in the parlor there, 
