It was a winter evening
   Then snow was falling fast
There was a little traveling wanderer,
   Came trotting through the blast.

It had no covering on its head
   No cloak to keep it warm
I ran to meet it on its way
    And save it from the storm.

If no place nor home it had
   How hard would be the stroke
I stopped and took it in my arms
   And wrapped it in my cloak.

I bore it to my cottage door
   And glad to take the pains
I set it down upon the floor
   Where peace and quiet reigns.

I stood and looked and seemed much pleased
    It stood and looked and smiled.
It had not learned to speak a word
    It was a little child.