TWO little pairs of boots, to-night, Before the fire are drying; Two little pairs of tired feet In a trundle bed are lying; The tracks they left upon the floor Make me feel like sighing.

Those little boots with copper toes!

They run the livelong day; And oftentimes I almost wish

They were miles away; So tired am I to hear so oft

Their heavy tramp at play.

They walk about the new-ploughed ground

Where mud in plenty lies; They roll it up in marbles round,

They bake it into pies, And then, at night upon the floor,

In every shape it dries!

To-day I was disposed to scold,

But when I look to-night At those little boots before the fire.

With copper toes so bright, I think how sad my heart would be To put them out of sight.

For in a trunk up stairs I've laid Two socks of white and blue:

If called to put those boots away, Oh God, what should I do?

I mourn that there are not to-night Three pairs instead of two.

I mourn because I thought how nice

My neighbor 'cross the way, Could keep her carpets all the year

From getting worn or gray; Yet well I know she'd smile to own

Some little boots to-day.

We mothers weary get, and worn,

Over our load of care; But how we speak to these little ones

Let each of us beware; For what would our fireside be tonight,

If no little boots were there?

"had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white."