Within that cosy nest, there Dwelt three loving hearts, Nay, four, for on the Very morn when Christmas bells were Ringing o’er the land, When children of the rich And children of the poor alike, were talking Of the Christ-child, and his day, Unto them a Child was given, And this lovely babe, blest Christmas Gift⁠—was richly prized. E’en now she knew her Father’s voice, and leaped with joy at his return.

But ah! the cry of war, broke o’er the land. Cruel War, that rends the households and the hearts; That makes fond bosoms bleed; and waters all The sod with tears, Salty, agonizing tears, which, When they dry, leave furrows never healing.⁠— Sorrows, never ceasing.