  Cool the winds were rustling And the light was paling, For the sun was hidden With a fleecy veiling. Trundling down the sidewalk A baby’s carriage rolled, Canopied with azure And dainty every fold. Sat the little stranger Sweet as lily white; The cap of gauzy ruffle Let in air and light. The little wrap was tasteful, Yet ’twas all too thin; The cloak was not a warm one To wrap a baby in. There it sat,—the angel! Not saying, “I am cold.” I knew that face of beauty Would ne’er on earth grow old. By all my mother-instincts And mother-wisdom given, I knew that precious baby I thought of half-fledged birdies, The sparrow and the starling; And longed to wrap my mantle About the baby darling. But on the little carriage Rolled, with its precious freight, As if in haste to land it Within the Pearly Gate. Had baby been a dolly, With lifeless locks of flax; And had its form been molded Of porcelain or wax, The fragile cap so gauzy, The dainty cloak so thin, Had been enough of clothing To wrap the dolly in. But flesh and blood of babies Need something warmer far, Or soon the priceless jewel Like evening’s beauteous star Will soon shine far above us; And baby’s precious feet Will walk among the angels Along the Golden Street. endpaper divider |
|
