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CHRISTMAS EVE
WOULD Jesus come to me, Mither,
The morrow's Christmas morn,
Wearin' the bonny smile he had
That day that he was born,
Around his head a wreath o' light,
And not a twig o' thorn,—
I'd open wide the doore, Mither,
The way that he'd come in;
And not to gi' him pain at all,
I'd keep my heart from sin;
And all I could to pleasure him
I'd right at once begin.
Not in a stall should he be laid,
But on me own fine bed;
And half me porridge wi' me own
Small spoon should he be fed,
The while his Mither smiled, and shared
Wi' you the bit o' bread.
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