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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345810" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sermon in the Stocking</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The supper is over, the hearth is swept,<br>And in the wood-fire's glow<br>The children cluster to hear a tale<br>Of that time so long ago,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When grandmamma's hair was golden brown,<br>And the warm blood came and went<br>O'er the face that could scarce have been sweeter then<br>Than now in its rich content.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The face is wrinkled and careworn now,<br>And the golden hair is gray;<br>But the light that shone in the young girl's eyes<br>Has never gone away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And her needles catch the fire's light<br>As in and out they go,<br>With the clicking music that grandma loves<br>Shaping the stocking's toe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the waking children love it too,<br>For they know the stocking song<br>Brings many a tale to grandma's mind<br>Which they shall hear ere long.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But it brings no story of olden time<br>To grandma's heart tonight,--<br>Only a ditty quaint and short<br>Is sung by the needles bright.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Life is a stocking,' grandma says,<br>'And yours is just begun;<br>But I am kniting the toe of mine,<br>And my work is almost done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'With merry hearts we begin to knit,<br>And the ribbing is almost play;<br>Some are gay-colored, and some are white,<br>And some are ashen gray.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But most are made of many a hue,<br>With many a stitch set wrong,<br>And many a row to be sadly ripped<br>Ere the whole is fair and strong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There are long plain stretches without a break,<br>That in youth are hard to bear;<br>And many a weary tear is dropped<br>As we fashion the heel with care.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But the saddest, happiest time is that<br>We court and yet would shun,<br>When our Heavenly Father breaks the thread,<br>And says our work is done.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the children come to say good-night,<br>With tears in their bright young eyes;<br>While in grandma's lap, with broken thread,<br>The finished stocking lies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anonymous+Americas">Anonymous Americas</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345810" data-title="The Sermon in the Stocking de Anonymous Americas" data-description="The supper is over, the hearth is swept,
And in the wood-fire's glow
The children cluster to hear a tale
Of that time so long ago,

When grandmamma's hair was golden brown,
And the warm blood came and went
O'er the face that could scarce have been..."></div>
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