Twas the night before Smithsmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The manuscript sat on the table with care,

In hopes that the translator soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

While visions of stick pulling danced in their heads;

And mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon, it was casting a pillar of light,

And I shielded my eyes from the heavenly bright

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a self-propelled sleigh with four men drawing near

With a strapping young driver so broad-shouldered and tan

It had to be Joseph and no other man

More rapid than angels the flying sleigh came,

As he drove, Joseph whistled and he called out strange names:

“Now Alma! Now Nephi! Now Mormon and Helam!

On Ammon! On Aaron! Prepare the Gazelam!

To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

Now bring them forth, bring them forth, bring them forth all.”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the housetop the sleigh quickly flew

Though I leaned out the window, it had vanished from view.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard the sounds, all

As the four men alighted, I heard every footfall

As I drew in my head and was turning around

Down the chimney Brother Joseph came with a bound

He was dressed up for church, from his head to his foot,

But his nice clothes were tarnished with ashes and soot

A bundle of something was up on his back

Before I could ask, he with haste dropped the pack

He said that its contents could not be revealed

Gold plates were the item it wholly concealed

He needed them here for translation, no doubt

But not necessarily really pulled out.

I asked if his sleigh-mates would join us as well

He explained they were staying roofside for a spell

They were fixing a piece of the sleigh that had broken

“The Three Nephites:” he answered my question unspoken.

He was sharp-eyed and bright, a true revelator

Though I confess this was clear to me only much later.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He buried his head in his hat and we worked;

He dictated translations, and I was his clerk.

Then when we had 116 pages of prose

He bade me farewell and up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his friends gave a whistle

And away they all flew like a prophetic missile.

But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight—

“Keep an eye on that manuscript, lock it up tight!”