

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE, 309 
“Dear holy Christ, save thee, 
No father and no mother 
Have I on earth ;—O, be 
My Saviour and my brother, 
For none remembers me!” 
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 upeast. 
Lo! with a little light, 
Comes plodding up the street, 
All dressed in spotless white, 
Another child :—how sweet 
His accents pierce the night! 
“T am the holy child 
Jesus, and once, like thee, 
I roamed through cold and wild; 
Poor wanderer, come to me, 
For I am meek and mild! 
“T 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, 













