Love Came Down At Christmas, Love All

To Her Whose Heart Is My Heart's Quiet Home, To My First Love, My Mother, On Whose Knee I Learnt Love-lore That Is Not Troublesome.

And Sometimes I Remember Days Of Old When Fellowship Seemed Not So Far To Seek, And All The World And I Seemed Much Less Cold, And At The Rainbow's Foot Lay Surely Gold, And Hope Felt Strong, And Life Itself Not Weak.

Where Innocent Bright-eyes Daisies Are With Blades Of Grass Between, Each Daisy Stands Up Like A Star Out Of A Sky Of Green.

My Heart Is Like A Singing Bird.

January Cold And Desolate; February Dripping Wet; March Wind Ranges; April Changes; Birds Sing In Tune To Flowers Of May, And Sunny June Brings Longest Day; In Scorched July The Storm-clouds Fly, Lightning-torn; August Bears Corn, September Fruit; In Rough October Earth Must Disrobe Her; Stars Fall And Shoot In Keen November; And Night Is Long And Cold Is Strong In Bleak December.