Christmas Eve， and twelve of the clock.

    "Now they are all on their knees，"

    An elder said as we sat in a flock

    By the embers in hearthside ease.

    We pictured the meek² mild creatures where

    They dwelt in their strawy pen，

    Nor did it occur to one of us there

    To doubt they were kneeling then.

    So fair a fancy few would weave

    In these years！ Yet， I feel，

    If someone said on Christmas Eve，

    "Come； see the oxen kneel，

    "In the lonely barton by yonder coomb

    Our childhood used to know，"

    I should go with him in the gloom，

    Hoping it might be so.