The Farmer's Fireside

Around the firc, onc wintry night, Tbc farmcr's rosy childrcn sat; Tlie fagot lont its blaziug light, And mirth went round, and liarmless chat. When, hark ! a gentío hand they hcar Low tapping at the bolted door, And thus to gain thelr willing ear, A feebJc voice was heard imploro : 'Cold blows the blast across the moor T'i.e pleet drives hissfcg in tlie wind; Yon toilsome mountain lies before. A dreary treeless waste betuna. "My eyes are dim and weak wlth ago; íío road, no path ean I deecry ; And these poor rgs ill stand the rage. Of such a keen iiiclement sky. 'So faint I am, these tottering feet No more niy palsied frame ean bear ; My freezing hcart forgets to beat, And driftiug suows my tomb prepare. "Open your hospitable door, And shicld me f rom the biting blast; Cold, cold it blows across the moor, The weary moor that I have passed." With hasty steps the farmer ran, And close beside the fire they place The poor half-frozen bcggar-man, With shaking limbs and pale-blue face. The little ehildrcn Boeking came, And ehafed his f rozen hands in theirs ; Aud busily the good old dame A comfortable mess prepares. Their kindress cheered his drooping soul, And slowly down his wrinkled cheek The big round tear was seen to roll, And told the thanks he could uot speak. The children then began to sigh, And all their merry chat was o'er; And yet they feit, they know not why, More glad than they had done before.