  Baby’s dainty little stocking Hangs beside his wicker cot, Darling mother’s wishes mocking And the treasures she has brought. For it is so small that never Gift can find a place inside. Was there doting mother ever So distressed at Christmas tide? Baby’s eyes are closed and dreaming Of the gentle mother face; Baby’s hands are clasped and seeming Interlocked in fond embrace. Baby’s lips are softly smiling, And the Rubicon of youth He has passed, for lo! beguiling Mother’s kisses, peeps a tooth. Naught for gifts is baby caring. Santa Claus has many a gem, But, God’s love and mother’s sharing, Baby has no need of them. |
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