Emily Huntington Miller Poems

I know the song that the bluebird is singing,
Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging;
Brave little fellow, the skies may look dreary;
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Hang up the baby's stocking
Be sure you don't forget!
The dear little dimpled darling,
She never saw Christmas yet!
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Meadows with yellow cowslips all aglow,
Glory of sunshine on the uplands bare,
And faint and far, with sweet elusive flow,
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Tell the blessèd tidings, children of the King,
With your glad hosannas make the morning ring:
Songs of His salvation, nevermore should cease;
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I

I love to hear the story
Which angel voices tell,
How once the King of glory
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Oh realm of light! whose morning star
To Bethlehem's manger led the way,
Not yet upon our longing eyes
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They say that the year is old and gray,
That his eyes are dim with sorrow;
But what care we, though he pass away?
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