Holiday Gift
Mother
My children, I am glad to see
Your holidays have come;
For much it does delight my heart
To see you all at home.
And that you have behaved so well,
Gives me still greater joy;
For greatly does your happiness
Your mother’s thoughts employ.
The promise that I gave you all
Most strictly I regard,
And dearly do I love to give
My children their reward.
So here is a guinea, Charles, for you,
To buy that pretty sword,
Which, when you asked me for last spring,
I could not then afford.
And, Emma, one for you and Ann,
Between you to divide;
As Charles is older than yourselves,
I hope you’re satisfied.
EMMA.
Oh yes, mamma, ’tis quite enough,
We could not wish for more;
We never in our lives have had
One half as much before.
CHARLES.
Mamma, you seem to be perplexed
With some unpleasant care;
You smile, but then ’tis not the smile
That I have seen you wear.
Pray, tell me is it anything
That I have said or done?
I hope, mamma, I never shall
Be an ungrateful son.
MOTHER.
Oh, no, my child; you ever have
Been dutiful and kind,
But still, there is a circumstance
That has perplexed my mind.
You know that worthy family
That lived up on the hill,—
Poor Mr. Smith, the clever man,
That used to tend the mill.
Last spring, his wife and little ones
Were very sick, you know;
When they recovered, he was seized,
And died a week ago.
This very morning, Mrs. Smith
Came here to ask relief;
Poor woman! she looked pale and thin,
And overwhelmed with grief.
“Dear madam, I am grieved to come
And trouble you,” she said;
“But new afflictions seem to fall
In torrents on my head.
“Some time before my husband died,
We owed a quarter’s rent,
He laid it up, and would, no doubt,
Have paid it—every cent.
“But when our earnings all were stopp’d,
And we so long were ill,
I was obliged to take it all,
To pay the doctor’s bill.
“This very morn our landlord came,
And sternly bade me pay;
I told him all, and begged he’d wait
A little longer day.
“‘Wait longer? No, indeed I wont;
Too long I have waited now;
So pay, or you’ll march out of doors,
And I shall take your cow.’”
The widow wept, and then she said,
“I am willing to be poor,—
But yet to lose my only cow
Seems too much to endure.”
CHARLES.
Here, take this money, ma, and pay
As far as it will go;
I had rather never have a sword
Than she should suffer so.
EMMA AND ANN.
And ours, mamma; do take it all,
To pay that cruel man;
And pray make haste before he comes
To frighten them again.
MOTHER.
Come to my arms, my precious ones,
I only meant to see
Whether your little hearts were warmed
With sweet humanity.
I’ll take your money for this debt,—
And never did I pay
A sum away with such delight,
As I shall do this day.
Come, then, my children, let us go;
It is a bless’d employ
To cheer the widow’s heart and fill
The fatherless with joy.
Oh, do not neglect
Your practice, my dear;
Papa will expect
Some good music to hear;
For he has been absent
Almost a whole year.