  I COUNT my treasures o’er with care,— The little toy my darling knew, A little sock of faded hue, A little lock of golden hair. Long years ago this holy time, My little one—my all to me— Sat robed in white upon my knee, And heard the merry Christmas chime. “Tell me, my little golden-head, If Santa Claus should come to-night, What shall he bring my baby bright,— What treasure for my boy?” I said. And then he named this little toy, While in his round and mournful eyes There came a look of sweet surprise, That spake his quiet, trustful joy. And as he lisped his evening prayer He asked the boon with childish grace; Then, toddling to the chimney-place, He hung this little stocking there. That night, while lengthening shadows crept, I saw the white-winged angels come With singing to our lowly home And kiss my darling as he slept. They must have heard his little prayer, For in the morn, with rapturous face, He toddled to the chimney-place, And found this little treasure there. They came again one Christmas-tide,— That angel host, so fair and white; And, singing all that glorious night, They lured my darling from my side. A little sock, a little toy, A little lock of golden hair, The Christmas music on the air, A watching for my baby boy! But if again that angel train And golden-head come back for me To bear me to Eternity, My watching will not be in vain. |
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