The Moral is that gardeners pine, Whene'er no pods adorn the vine. Of all sad words experience gleans, The saddest are: It might have beans.

O Christmas Sun! What holy task is thine! To fold a world in the embrace of God! To spread, where'er thy golden feet have trod, The benediction of His grace divine: To hold the promise of His final plan Blazing before the eyes of human-kind, And, at thy setting, leave His love enshrined Anew in the reminded heart of man!