Oh, grief looks most distorted When his hideous shadow lies On the clear and sunny life-stream That doth fill a child’s blue eyes, But _her_ eye was dull and sunken, And the whiten’d cheek was gaunt, And the blue veins on the forehead Were the penciling of Want. And she wept for years like jewels, Till the last year’s bitter gall, Like the acid of the story, In itself had melted all; But the Christmas time returned, As an old friend, for whose eye She would take down all the pictures Sketch’d by faithful Memory,— Of those brilliant Christmas seasons, When the joyous laugh went around; When sweet words of love and kindness Were no unfamiliar sound When, lit by the log’s red lustre, She her mother’s face could see, And she rock’d the cradle, sitting On her own twin brother’s knee: Of her father’s pleasant stories; Of the riddles and the rhymes, All the kisses and the presents That had mark’d those Christmas times. ’Twas as well that there was no one (For it were a mocking strain) To wish _her_ a merry Christmas, For _that_ could not come again. How there came a time of struggling, When, in spite of love and faith, Grinding Poverty would only In the end give place to Death; How her mother grew heart-broken, When her toil-worn father died, Took her baby in her bosom, And was buried by his side: How she clung unto her brother As the last spar from the wreck, But stern Death had come between them While her arms were around his neck There were _now_ no loving voices; And, if few hands offered bread, There were none to rest in blessing On the little homeless head. Or, if any gave her shelter, It was less of joy than fear; For they welcom’d Crime more warmly To the selfsame room with her. But, at length they all grew weary Of their sick and useless guest; She must try a workhouse welcome For the helpless and distressed. But she pray’d; and the Unsleeping In his ear that whisper caught; So he sent down Sleep, who gave her Such a respite as she sought; Drew the fair head to her bosom, Pressed the wetted eyelids close, And with softly-falling kisses, Lulled her gently to repose. Then she dreamed the angels, sweeping With their wings the sky aside, Raised her swiftly to the country Where the blessed ones abide: To a bower all flushed with beauty, By a shadowy arcade, Where a mellowness like moonlight By the Tree of Life was made: Where the rich fruit sparkled, star-like, And pure flowers of fadeless dye Poured their fragrance on the waters That in crystal beds went by: Where bright hills of pearl and amber Closed the fair green valleys round, And, with rainbow light, but lasting, Were there glistening summits crown’d