Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Christmas Eve

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For works with similar titles, see Christmas Eve.
For other versions of this work, see Christmas Eve (Coates).


WOULD Jesus come to me, Mither,
The morrow's Christmas morn,
Wearin' the bonny smile he had
That day that he was born,
Around his head a wreath o' light,
And not a twig o' thorn,—

I'd open wide the doore, Mither,
The way that he'd come in;
And not to gi' him pain at all,
I'd keep my heart from sin;
And all I could to pleasure him
I'd right at once begin.

Not in a stall should he be laid,
But on me own fine bed;
And half me porridge wi' me own
Small spoon should he be fed,
The while his Mither smiled, and shared
Wi' you the bit o' bread.

'T would be a time o' joy, Mither!
But thinkin' o' they things,
'T is may-be well he should be there,
Wi' ward o' angel-wings;
I doubt they'd miss him so!—the kine,
The shepherds, and the kings!