In the Christmas times of the long ago,
There was one event we used to know
That was better than any other;
It wasn't the toys that we hoped to get,
But the talks we had--and I hear them yet--
Of the gift we'd buy for Mother.
If ever love fashioned a Christmas gift,
Or saved its money and practiced thrift,
'Twas done in those days, my brother--
Those golden times of Long Gone By,
Of our happiest years, when you and I
Talked over the gift for Mother.
We hadn't gone forth on our different ways
Nor coined our lives into yesterdays
In the fires that smelt and smother,
And we whispered and planned in our youthful glee
Of that marvelous "something" which was to be
The gift of our hearts to Mother.
It had to be all that our purse could give,
Something she'd treasure while she could live,
And better than any other.
We gave it the best of our love and thought,
And, Oh, the joy when at last we'd bought
That marvelous gift for Mother!
Now I think as we go on our different ways,
Of the joy of those vanished yesterdays.
How good it would be, my brother,
If this Christmas-time we could only know
That same sweet thrill of the Long Ago
When we shared in the gift for Mother.
