Little Flo’s Christmas

The room was furnished poorly and the fire was burning low,

While a mother pale and tearful was undressing little Flo.

‘Twas the eve before glad Christmas, yet the father lingered still,

And they knew that he would stay there till he drank his usual fill.

Then the sweet child hung her stocking while the mother checked her tears,

Tho’ she knew that Christmas presents was a thing of bygone years.

Then upstairs crept they softly to the chamber cold and bare,

Where the little girl seemed backward to say her evening prayer.

Then said she to her mother in a gently pleading tone:

“I’m going to pray for papa and I’d rather be alone.”

So the woman bent and kissed her, then partly closed the door,

And descended to the kitchen there to watch and wait once more.

But e’er she’d long been seated her husband staggered in,

And demanded supper quickly for he’d “got to go ag’in.”

“Supper?” said the woman, “why we’ve scarcely got a crumb;

I thought as it was pay-night you’d bring it when you come.”

“Then off I am (hic) ‘thout it, but I guess (hic) ‘fore I go,

I’ll steal up to the bedrum and kiss my little Flo.”

“God grant her prayer’s unfinished!” the mother’s heart cried out;

Then she tip-toed on behind him, with trembling, fear and doubt.

“W’y bless me ‘f she ain’t talkin’, (hic)” this with a drunken leer;

“I s’pose it’s to ol’ Santa, guess I’ll stop – er bit to – er hear.”

Then a voice of angel sweetness although trembling with the chill,

Reached the ear of him that listened, and stood his pulses still.

“Dear Lord,” it said, “before I finish” – then far more touching grew –

“If my father isn’t better please take us up to you;

I would like one little present just to make to-morrow bright,”

Then into bed she scambled as she bade the Lord “good night”.

Then the shame-man retreated, crying to his wife forlorn:

“These cursed lips will never touch her, till the stench of rum is gone.

I’ve no money for a present, but her stocking will contain

A written pledge, that I, her father, will never drink one drop again!

Ah, wife, the demon’s left me; little Flora’s prayer was heard;

And – yes, we’ll kneel together, He will help me keep my word.”

Christmas morn burst forth in splendor

     But the sunshine in that home,

As the mother read the promise,

     Rivaled that of Heaven’s dome.

Dec. 12, ‘90

Pub. in Ct. Valley

Ad., Dec. 20, ‘90