I can remember how he loved a fire.
      He poked the logs to make the flame go higher,
      And gathered all the children Ôround to hear
      Tall tales he told, and all the funny queer
      Old ballads that he sang, and tender tunes
      That were his ownÐthe kind a mother croons
      Unto a sleepy child.  He always took
      The youngest in his lap; but he would look
      Around at each of us as though he knew
      That we, by this, would feel included too.
      When Mother cameÐher evening dishes doneÐ
      He always said, "Move over, everyone,
      And let your mother in".  I hear him yet,
      That gentle voice that no one could forget.

      That day she went to meet him in the skies,
      I think she found him singing lullabies
      To every fair-haired cherub in the lot.
      And when he turned and saw her, like as not
      He smiled and said the words he said each night:
      "Let Mother in".  Then heaven was all right.