But fine sons and daughters when we are grown old,
We shall know the delights of that old-fashioned pair.
At Pelletier's
We've/ve.html">ve been out to Pelletier's
Quitting all the moods of men.html">men
We have romped through orchards blazing,
Hidden in the hayloft's spaces,
That are lost (and it's a pity!)
And the hired men have let us
Apples from the trees, and lingered
And they told us all about her
Watching horses raise their ears,
When the man with oats was nearing.
Never minding consequences.
The fat.html">fat ponies' sides so furry.
Walnuts to the nest he's making,
Can't get out to hunt for any.
Big and fat and never knowing
Is to die for our Thanksgiving.
We've been out to Pelletier's,
We were kids set free from shamming
And the clamor and the bustle
Out of doors with room to race in
We just stretched our souls and let them
Left our narrow thoughts behind us,
And were wholesomer and plainer
And at night said: "It's a pity
He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season's here;
And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for.
When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime.
When it's Christmas man is bigger and is better in his part;
All the petty thoughts and narrow seem to vanish for awhile
Then for others he is toiling and somehow it seems to me
Till he'd fought his selfish battles and had put aside his hate.
On the long days and the dreary when he's striving for himself.
But I'd look for him at Christmas when he's shining at his best.
Man is ever in a struggle and he's oft misunderstood;
.
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