The Home Circle by Margaret J. Preston

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 21, 1888

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 14, No. 49.

The Home Circle.

By Margaret J. Preston

THE WARMTH OF A WORD.

T'was a day in the dead of winter, And the echo of hurried feet Struck sharp from the icy pavement Of the pitiless city street.

Each passer was loath to linger, Though wrapped in a fur-clad fold; For the air was a-tingle with frost flakes, And the sky was benumbed with cold.

The cimeter wind, in its fury, Bore down like a sweeping foe; The tempest was waiting the onset, And abroad were its scouts of snow.

Yet 'midst it all, with his tatters A-flap in the whirling blast, A child who seemed born of the winter— A creature of penury—passed.

So tremulous were his accents, As he shivered and crouched and sung, That the names of the mumbled papers Seemed frozen upon his tongue.

He paused for a bitter moment, As a wondrously genial face Arrested his voice and held him With a pity that warmed the place.

"Have a paper?" The kind eye glistened As the stranger took the sheet, And glanced at the stiffened fingers, And thought of the icy feet,

Then dropped in his hand the value Of his fifty papers sold; "Ah, poor little friend!" he faltered, "Don't you shiver and ache with cold?"

The boy, with a gulp of gladness, Sobbed out, as he raised his eye To the warmth of the face above him, "I did, sir—till you passed by!" —Margaret J. Preston.