I stand on a hill, looking downward
To the snowy valley below;
I see smoke spirals from chimneys
And windows with candles' warm glow.
Children skate on a shallow pond,
Within the churchyard's domain,
And men ride upon wood-piled sleds
With Old Dobbin pulling the reins.
As I scan the slope nearest me,
Youths are merrily bobsledding,
And little creatures of the wood
Deep in their nests are bedding.
And I feel a sweet awareness
Of a Presence from above,
Whose birth in lowly Bethlehem
Filled all the world with love.
I pick up my little fir tree
Because twilight is drawing near
And wend home down a snowy path
For the happiest time of the year.
~ Elizabeth Swain Lawson
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