PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

An old prospector was wandering the west

He was lonely and longing for those he loved best;

And he fancied he heard as he camped down for rest,

The echoing cry of a baby.

Now was it an angel or was it a ghost?

Or was it the sound of the heavenly host?

That told him the thing that he wanted the most

Could be found in the birth of a baby.

He woke from his sleep and he shouldered his pack

He turned and he trudged all those weary miles back

Till he came to a humble and tumble down shack

Where a woman was nursing a baby.

And he knelt to that baby as though to a king

And his heart was so glad that he wanted to sing

And he pulled out his gold-dust as all he could bring

To honour the birth of the baby.

His heart was aflame as he went on his way

"Well, Glory to Jesus!" was all he could say

And he never forgot on that hot Christmas day

That his life had been changed by a baby.

For he found there was joy that his heart could not hold

More wealth than he'd panned in a handful of gold,

And wherever he wandered the story he told

Of the wonderful Christmas time baby.