He sat on Christmas morn alone,
No friend to bid him cheer;
He missed them not, though all were gone,
Who loved him yester-year.
And gaily rang the Christmas bells,
Their wondrous tale of old;
He heard no meaning in their sound,
He sate and hugged his gold.
He watched the happy folks go by,
He scowled to see them glad,
And then a little maid drew nigh,
A holly bough she had.
She lifts her pleading face to him,
She begs in accents wild:
What is it makes his eyes grow dim?
Why does he call the child?—
He seems to see his mother’s face,
Who died long years ago,
And the holly bough he knelt to place
Upon her grave of snow.
He listened to the Christmas bells,
He felt their meaning then:
Peace upon earth, and in his heart
Peace and good-will to men!