IN THE FIRELIGHT by Nixon Waterman

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Dec 4, 1900

IN THE FIRELIGHT.

By Nixon Waterman

The smoldering backlog is nearly in two, And the forestick is burned to the core; The embers are blushing a tremulous hue, While the wind in the chimney goes “Woo-oo-oo!” And sadly, at window and door, Is sighing that summer is o’er. And a faint little whispering, eerie and queer, Brings news I am waiting to know— The forces of winter are marshaling near, It says, in that strange little language we hear When the fire is talking of snow.

My babies are blissfully dreaming in bed, Close-wrapped is each innocent form; With tender caress their “Good nights” have been said, And with blankets soft-tucked round each dear little head, And cuddled so cosy and warm, They fear not the breath of the storm. In front of the fireplace, beaming and bright, Are their little shoes, all in a row, Whose travel-worn soles seem to shiver with fright When the wind hoarsely laughs in the chimney at night, And the fire is talking of snow.

On the shadowy mantel the garrulous clock Is sifting the seconds away, And solemnly telling me—“Tock, tick, tock”— It is time I was joining my slumbering flock Where the drowsy-eyed poppy holds sway; But I linger to prayerfully say, “Good angels, be near to those treasures of mine When the tempest shall bitingly blow; Through all their sweet dreaming, bright blossoms entwine; Bring roses and lilies and summer and shine, While the fire is talking of snow.”

—Nixon Waterman.