"Don't bolt the door, John," said the Dame,
Who sat esconced in oaken chair,
The good man paused, and back he came,
Silent, and with a troubled air.
"To night 'tis just a year ago
Since Daisy left," the mother sighed.
"Don't blame the child, I loved her so;
But better had our darling died."
The father spake not. Glistening bright
A tear stole down the mother's cheek.
"A year to-night! A year to-night!
I sometimes think my heart will break."
'Tis Christmas-eve, and in that cot
The good old couple grieve and yearn
For one, though absent, ne'er forgot:
"Don't bolt the door, she may return."
"She may return." The midnight chime
With mystic music fills the air,
And bears the news, "'Tis Christmas time,"
In sobbing wavelets everywhere.