Finding A Sock On An Autumn Evening

Whose sock this is I do not know; 

I found it in my dresser though. 

I’ll say I thought it very queer, 

This garment of somebody’s toes. 

I had a feeling, quite like fear  

When it did suddenly appear; 

I must confess, I did quite shake, 

And yet, I did not shed a tear. 

One sock does not a good pair make, 

So I must ask someone to take 

This sock; for it I will not keep, 

It coming to me by mistake. 

The night is cold and dark, and deep, 

So I’ll go, woolen socks to seek, 

And pairs to match before I sleep, 

And pairs to match before I sleep. 

The Seamless Garment

A maiden flax upon her spindle spun,

The thread she spun was finest in the land;

The coat she’d make was for her only Son,

Who soon was off to walk through desert sands.

She wove the coat, and wonderful to see,

It was one piece, and stitches there were none;

A sorrow pierced her; no longer here He’d be,

He set off then, and for three years was gone.

When next they met, and saddest for to see,

His coat was gone, and He was wounded sore;

His back was bowed beneath a weighty tree;

All this, to save all people evermore.

Below for seamless cloth the guards threw dice:

Above he traded His death for our lives.