Child's Calendar Beautiful, December, Sixth Year

When Daddy Lights the Tree

We have our share of ups and downs,
Our cares like other folk;
The pocketbook is sometimes full,
We're sometimes well nigh broke;
But once a year, at Christmas time,
Our hearth is bright to see;
The baby's hand just touches heaven
When Daddy lights the tree.
For weeks and weeks the little ones
Have lotted on this hour;
And mother, she has planned for it
Since simmer's sun and shower.
With here a nickel, there a dime,
Put by where none should see,
A loving hoard against the night
When Daddy lights the tree.
The tiny tapers glow like stars;
They mind us of the flame
That rifted once the steel-blue sky
The morn the Christ-child came;
The blessed angels sang to earth
Above that far countree [sic]--
We think they sing above our hearth
When Daddy lights the tree.

The weest kid in mother's arms
Laughs out and claps her hands,
The rest of us on tip toe wait;
The grown-up brother stands
Where he can reach the topmost branch,
Our Santa Claus to be,
In that sweet hour of breathless joy
When Daddy lights the tree.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

'Tis Love that makes the world go round,
'Tis Love that lightens toil,
'Tis Love that lays up treasure which
Nor moth nor rust can spoil;
And Love is in our humble home,
In largesse full and free,
We all are very close to heaven
When Daddy lights the tree.

We pray that little orphaned ones
May have some share of bliss,
Nor when the Yule-tide fires burn
Their bit of gladness miss;
From our rich store we're fain to send
Wher'er such children be
A present as from friend to friend
When Daddy lights the tree.

~Margaret E. Sangster