: Children of Christmas and Others by Thomas Edith Matilda - American poetry; Christmas Poetry

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, And the Christmas Eve has come, All through the little snow-white town There's a joyous stir and hum.

Now here and now there, along the street, From windows wide open flung, Float childish laughter and prattle sweet In the kindly German tongue.

Then, out at the window--strung on a thread, The precious letter is cast; Though far and high on the night wind sped, 'Twill be found and read at last!

THE CHRISTMAS SHEAF

It was a gleaner in the fields,-- The fields gleaned long ago: The evening wind swept down from heights Already brushed with snow.

The gleaner turned to right, to left, With searching steps forlorn; The stubble-blade beneath her feet Was sharp as any thorn.

But as she stooped, and as she searched, Half blind with gathering tears, Beside her in the field stood One Whose voice beguiled her fears:

"What seek ye here, this bitter eve, The harvest long gone by?" She lifted up her weary face, She answered with a sigh:

"I seek but some few heads of wheat To nail against the wall, To feed at morn the blessed birds, When with loud chirps they call.

"Poor ever have I been, God knows! Yet ne'er so poor before, But they might taste their glad No?l Beside my cottage door."

Then answer made that Presence sweet, "Go home, and trust right well The birds beside your cottage door Shall find their glad No?l."

And so it was--from soundest sleep The gleaner woke at morn, To see, nailed up beside her door, A sheaf of golden corn!

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