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And Eliza, whose voice the hearer will
Own somewhat contralto, gave shake and
	trill,
In the high soprano, slightly shrill
	Of the musical age of five;
Her chubby fist, so dimpled and fat,
Was innocent yet of sharp and flat,
And her dear little brains over �tit for tat,�
So puzzled and muddled we all knew that
	Our little �Lumps� would thrive:
And our host and hostess, � well, I find,
(Though they may hint at friendship�s blind)
Their faces young, � I�m sure as kind
	As, a dozen years ago.
And since that first bright Christmas Day,
In daily work, in household play,
I dare not trust my voice to say
	How much to them I owe.
	x	    x               x                  x
God bless the hearth round which we gather!
God bless the mother and the father!
God bless the daughters and the sons!
And all in whom the dear blood runs!
And send that each, long, long, may be
Of such a circle as, to-night, they see,
      ��������������������������
  Her juvenile nick-name.   She wasn�t bright in arith
						   matic.