 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
413
THE GOOD LITTLE SISTER.
That was a bitter winter
When Jenny was four years old
And lived in a lonely farm-house—
Bitter, and long, and cold.
When Jenny was four years old
And lived in a lonely farm-house—
Bitter, and long, and cold.
The crops had been a failure—
In the barns there was room to spare;
And Jenny's hard-working father
Was full of anxious care.
In the barns there was room to spare;
And Jenny's hard-working father
Was full of anxious care.
Neither his wife nor children
Knew lack of fire or bread;
They had whatever was needful,
Were sheltered, and clothed, and fed.
Knew lack of fire or bread;
They had whatever was needful,
Were sheltered, and clothed, and fed.
But the mother, alas! was ailing—
'T was a struggle just to live;
And they scarce had even hopeful words,
Or cheerful smiles to give.
'T was a struggle just to live;
And they scarce had even hopeful words,
Or cheerful smiles to give.
A good, kind man was the father,
He loved his girls and boys;
But he whose hands are his riches
Has little for gifts and toys.
He loved his girls and boys;
But he whose hands are his riches
Has little for gifts and toys.
So when it drew near the season
That makes the world so glad—
When Jenny knew 't was the time for gifts,
Her childish heart was sad.
That makes the world so glad—
When Jenny knew 't was the time for gifts,
Her childish heart was sad.
For she thought, “I shall get no present
When Christmas comes, I am sure;”
Ah! the poor man's child learns early
Just what it means to be poor.
When Christmas comes, I am sure;”
Ah! the poor man's child learns early
Just what it means to be poor.
Yet still on the holy even
As she sat by the hearth-stone bright,
And her sister told good stories,
Her heart grew almost light.
As she sat by the hearth-stone bright,
And her sister told good stories,
Her heart grew almost light.
For the hopeful skies of childhood
Are never quite o'ercast:
And she said, “Who knows but somehow,
Something will come at last!”
Are never quite o'ercast:
And she said, “Who knows but somehow,
Something will come at last!”
Lo, before she went to her pillow,
Her pretty stockings were tied
Safely together and slyly hung,
Close to the chimney side.
Her pretty stockings were tied
Safely together and slyly hung,
Close to the chimney side.
There was little room for hoping,
One would say who had lived more years;
Yet the faith of the child is wiser
Sometimes than our doubts and fears.
One would say who had lived more years;
Yet the faith of the child is wiser
Sometimes than our doubts and fears.
Jenny had a good little sister,
Very big to her childish eyes,
Who was womanly, sweet, and patient,
And kind as she was wise.
Very big to her childish eyes,
Who was womanly, sweet, and patient,
And kind as she was wise.
And she had thought of this Christmas,
And the little it could bring,
Ever since the crops were half destroyed
By the freshet in the spring.
And the little it could bring,
Ever since the crops were half destroyed
By the freshet in the spring.
So the sweetest nuts of the autumn
She had safely hidden away;
And the ripest and reddest apples
Hoarded for many a day.
She had safely hidden away;
And the ripest and reddest apples
Hoarded for many a day.
And last she mixed some seed-cakes
(Jenny was sleeping then),
And moulded them grotesquely,
Like birds, and beasts, and men.
(Jenny was sleeping then),
And moulded them grotesquely,
Like birds, and beasts, and men.
Then she slipped them into the stockings,
And smiled to think about
The joyful wonder of her pet,
When she found and poured them out.
And smiled to think about
The joyful wonder of her pet,
When she found and poured them out.
And you could n't have seen next morning
A gladder child in the land
Than that humble farmer's daughter,
With her simple gifts in her hand.
A gladder child in the land
Than that humble farmer's daughter,
With her simple gifts in her hand.
And the loving sister? ah! you know
How blessèd 't is to give;
And they who think of others most
Are the happiest folks that live!
How blessèd 't is to give;
And they who think of others most
Are the happiest folks that live!
She had done what she could, my children,
To brighten that Christmas Day;
And whether her heart or Jenny's
Was lightest, it is hard to say.
To brighten that Christmas Day;
And whether her heart or Jenny's
Was lightest, it is hard to say.
And this, if you have but little,
Is what I would say to you:
Make all you can of that little—
Do all the good you can do.
Is what I would say to you:
Make all you can of that little—
Do all the good you can do.
And though your gifts may be humble,
Let no little child, I pray,
Find only an empty stocking
On the morn of the Christmas Day!
Let no little child, I pray,
414
On the morn of the Christmas Day!
'T is years and years since that sister
Went to dwell with the just;
And over her body the roses
Blossom and turn to dust.
Went to dwell with the just;
And over her body the roses
Blossom and turn to dust.
And Jenny 's a happy woman,
With wealth enough and to spare;
And every year her lap is filled
With presents fine and rare.
With wealth enough and to spare;
And every year her lap is filled
With presents fine and rare.
But whenever she thanks the givers
For favors great and small,
She thinks of the good little sister
Who gave her more than they all!
For favors great and small,
She thinks of the good little sister
Who gave her more than they all!
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |