I can see 'em carve the Christmas beef,
and Brother Jimmy's wife
Will say her never tasted such, no, not in
all her life.
And Sister Martha's Christmas pies melt
in your mouth, 'tis true,
But 'twas Mother made the puddin', as
mothers always do!

Ah me! If I could just have wings, and
in the dimsey light
Go stealing up the cobbled path this
lonesome Christmas night,
Lift up the latch with gentle hand -- My!
What a shout there'd be!
From those dear folks down in Devon!
What a welcomin' for me!





The Reason

"Why shouldest Thou be as a wayfaring man, that
turneth aside to tarry for a night?" -- Jer. xiv. 8.

Nay, do not get the venison pasty
out;
I shall not greatly put myself about