I Don't Go Much On Religion, I Never Ain'T Had No Show; But I've Got A Middlin' Tight Grip, Sir, On The Handful O' Things I Know. I Don't Pan Out On The Prophets And Free-Will, And That Sort Of Thing, - But I B'Lieve In God And The Angels, Ever Sence One Night Last Spring. I Come Into Town With Some Turnips, And My Little Gabe Come Along, - No Four-Year-Old In The County Could Beat Him For Pretty And Strong, Peart And Chipper And Sassy, Always Ready To Swear And Fight, - And I'd Larnt Him To Chaw Terbacker Jest To Keep His Milk-Teeth White. The Snow Come Down Like A Blanket As I Passed By Taggart'S Store; I Went In For A Jug Of Molasses And Left The Team At The Door. They Scared At Something And Started, - I Heard One Little Squall, And Hell-To-Split Over The Prairie Went Team, Little Breeches And All. Hell-To-Split Over The Prairie! I Was Almost Froze With Skeer; But We Rousted Up Some Torches, And Searched For 'Em Far And Near. At Last We Struck Hosses And Wagon, Snowed Under A Soft White Mound, Upsot, Dead Beat, - But Of Little Gabe No Hide Nor Hair Was Found. And Here All Hope Soured On Me, Of My Fellow-Critters' Aid, - I Jest Flopped Down On My Marrow-Bones, Crotch-Deep In The Snow, And Prayed. . . . . By This, The Torches Was Played Out, And Me And Isrul Parr Went Off For Some Wood To A Sheepfold That He Said Was Somewhar Thar. We Found It At Last, And A Little Shed Where They Shut Up The Lambs At Night. We Looked In And Seen Them Huddled Thar, So Warm And Sleepy And White; And Thar Sot Little Breeches And Chirped, As Peart As Ever You See, "I Want A Chaw Of Terbacker, And That's What's The Matter Of Me." How Did He Git Thar? Angels. He Could Never Have Walked In That Storm; They Jest Scooped Down And Toted Him To Whar It Was Safe And Warm. And I Think That Saving A Little Child, And Fotching Him To His Own, Is A Derned Sight Better Business Than Loafing Around The Throne.