Show THE FESTIVAL OF GOOD THE Will bushels As if you had lost your senses Rake with your might long win-rows Along my walls Hover and ye black-faced cloud Your looks with comfort The more ye falls on these strong The better my house is pale bees the storm You bid the world look whiter Your very ire but pokes my And makes the blaze burn brighter I worked away one hot With the harvest-forge To kindle the cheer of summer When cold winds should be I braced my form many a When the gale blew O'er side hills through snow-drifts I climbed to make this My debts are raised Lord be praised They left my old heart That mortgage I fed to the fire-mouths red And it made the flame burn brighter There's a smile that speaks in the plump red cheeks Of the apples in these They go down with a business air Of my stomach's I am feeling the charms comfort's Which never opened With the sober frown of doughnuts And the laugh of my sweet-kept Of course I know that this all must In the whirl of death or lost in the But there's nothing work it I should die tomorrow If I knew My mind will play this Christmas Round the sad-faced little That smiled on them at And I wish it had been my manger I'd told square to get out For I hadn't o'er much shed And move that lad and what else they Straight into my parlor a story too and Than fairy tale or fable An awkward thing for that preacher King To be tossed about in a been a joy to given that boy A quiet heart Before he was known as heir to a Or had struck his But I think I've read some words He In one of His printed the least of in which one sees The the the infirm So I I know ten turkeys or so Each one a fat old sinner Who'll find their way to the poor house And probably stay to ye howl if ye was to tree For all your tricks my grownup chicks Are today to see My best I've done for My heart gets their It seems to me like a Christmas Hung round with every Of course I know that this all must For grief wasn't made to And I'd get my pay for the fact If I knew I should die |