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Poem	They say He was a serious child, And quiet in His ways; They say the gentlest lady smiled To hear the neighbors' praise. The coffers of her heart would close Upon their smaliest word. Yet did they say, "How tall He grows!" They thought she had not heard. They say upon His birthday eve She'd rock Him to His rest As if she could not have Him leave The shelter of her breast. The poor must go in bitter thrift, The poor must give in pain, But ever did she get a gift To greet His day again. They say she'd kiss the Boy awake, And hail Him gay and clear, But oh, her heart was like to break To count another year.
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