Carol Of The Field Mice
by Kenneth Grahame
Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind my follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!
Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet -
you by the fire and we in the street -
Biding you joy in the morning!
For ere one half of the night was gone,
Sudden a star has led us on,
Raining bliss and benison -
Bliss tomorrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning!
Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow -
Saw the star o'er a stable low;
Mary she might not further go -
Welcome thatch, and litter below!
Joy was here in the morning!
And then they heard the angels tell
"Who were the first to cry Nowell?
Animals all, as it befell,
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning!"