I cannot bear it said the pewter soldier. I have shed pewter tears It is too melancholy Rather let me go to the wars and lose arms and legs It would at least be a change. I cannot bear it longer Now, I know what it is to have a visit from one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them I have had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant thing in the end I was at last about to jump down from the drawers.
Thousands of lights were burning on the green branches, and gaily-colored pictures, such as she had seen in the shop-windows, looked down upon her. The little maiden stretched out her hands towards them when--the match went out. The lights of the Christmas tree rose higher and higher, she saw them now as stars in heaven . . .
And the matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon-day never formerly had the grandmother been so beautiful and so tall. She took the little maiden, on her arm, and both flew in brightness and in joy so high, so very high, and then above was neither cold, nor hunger, nor anxiety--they were with God.