The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock

"Now they are all on their knees,"

An elder said as we sat in a flock

By the embers in hearthside ease

We pictured the meek mild creatures where

They dwelt in their strawy pen

Nor did it occur to one of us there

To doubt they were kneeling then

So fair a fancy few would weave

In these years! Yet, I feel

If somеone said on Christmas Eve

"Come see thе oxen kneel

"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb

Our childhood used to know,"

I should go with him in the gloom

Hoping it might be so