Cool the winds were rustling
And the light was paling,
For the sun was hidden
With a fleecy veiling.
Trundling down the sidewalk
A baby’s carriage rolled,
Canopied with azure
And dainty every fold.
Sat the little stranger
Sweet as lily white;
The cap of gauzy ruffle
Let in air and light.
The little wrap was tasteful,
Yet ’twas all too thin;
The cloak was not a warm one
To wrap a baby in.
There it sat,—the angel!
Not saying, “I am cold.”
I knew that face of beauty
Would ne’er on earth grow old.
By all my mother-instincts
And mother-wisdom given,
I knew that precious baby
Was on the road to Heaven.
I thought of half-fledged birdies,
The sparrow and the starling;
And longed to wrap my mantle
About the baby darling.
But on the little carriage
Rolled, with its precious freight,
As if in haste to land it
Within the Pearly Gate.
Had baby been a dolly,
With lifeless locks of flax;
And had its form been molded
Of porcelain or wax,
The fragile cap so gauzy,
The dainty cloak so thin,
Had been enough of clothing
To wrap the dolly in.
But flesh and blood of babies
Need something warmer far,
Or soon the priceless jewel
Like evening’s beauteous star
Will soon shine far above us;
And baby’s precious feet
Will walk among the angels
Along the Golden Street.