She fell asleep on Christmas Eve:
At length the long-ungranted
Of weary eyelids
The pain nought else might yet relieve.
Our mother, who had leaned all
Over the bed from chime to chime,
Then raised herself for the first time,
And as she sat her down, did pray.
Her little work-table was
With work to finish.
For the
Made by her candle, she had
To work some distance from the bed.
Without, there was a cold moon up,
Of winter radiance sheer and thin;
The hollow halo it was
Was like an icy crystal cup.
Through the small room, with subtle
Of flame, by vents the fireshine
And reddened.
In its dim
The mirror shed a clearness round.
I had been sitting up some nights,
And my tired mind felt weak and blank;
Like a sharp strengthening wine it
The stillness and the broken lights.
Twelve struck.
That sound, by dwindling
Heard in each hour, crept off; and
The ruffled silence spread again,
Like water that a pebble stirs.
Our mother rose from where she sat:
Her needles, as she laid them down,
Met lightly, and her silken
Settled: no other noise than that.“Glory unto the Newly Born!”So, as said angels, she did say;
Because we were in Christmas Day,
Though it would still be long till morn.
Just then in the room over
There was a pushing back of chairs,
As some who had sat
So late, now heard the hour, and rose.
With anxious softly-stepping
Our mother went where Margaret lay,
Fearing the sounds o'erhead—should
Have broken her long watched-for rest!
She stooped an instant, calm, and turned;
But suddenly turned back again;
And all her features seemed in
With woe, and her eyes gazed and yearned.
For my part,
I but hid my face,
And held my breath, and spoke no word:
There was none spoken; but I
The silence for a little space.
Our mother bowed herself and wept:
And both my arms fell, and I said,“God knows I knew that she was dead.”And there, all white, my sister slept.
Then kneeling, upon Christmas mornA little after twelve
We said, ere the first quarter struck, “Christ's blessing on the newly born!”
