 Christmas Eve and twelve o'clock. Now they are all on their knees. An elder said as we sat in a flock by the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where they dwelt in their straw-y pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there. To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave in these years. Yet I feel, if someone said on Christmas Eve, Come, see the oxen kneel, and the lonely Barton by yonder come, our childhood used to know. I should go with him in the gloom, hoping it might be so. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Oxen by Thomas Hardy. Read for LibriVox.org by Esther. Christmas Eve and twelve o'clock. Now they are all on their knees. An elder said as we sat in a flock by the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where they dwelt in their straw-y pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there. To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave in these years. Yet I feel, if someone said on Christmas Eve, Come, see the oxen kneel, and the lonely Barton by yonder come, our childhood used to know. I should go with him in the gloom, hoping it might be so. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Oxen by Thomas Hardy. Read for LibriVox.org by Gemma Blythe. Christmas Eve and twelve o'clock. Now they are all on their knees. An elder said as we sat in a flock by the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where they dwelt in their straw-y pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there. To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave in these years. Yet I feel, if someone said on Christmas Eve, Come, see the oxen kneel, and the lonely Barton by yonder come, our childhood used to know. I should go with him in the gloom, hoping it might be so. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Oxen by Thomas Hardy. Read for LibriVox.org by Christian Hughes. Christmas Eve and twelve o'clock. Now they are all on their knees. An elder said as we sat in a flock by the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where they dwelt in their straw-y pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there. To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave in these years. Yet I feel, if someone said on Christmas Eve, Come, see the oxen kneel, and the lonely Barton by yonder come, our childhood used to know. I should go with him in the gloom, hoping it might be so. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Oxen by Thomas Hardy. Recorded by Susan Denney. Denton, Texas, December 2006. Christmas Eve and twelve o'clock. Now they are all on their knees. An elder said as we sat in a flock by the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where they dwelt in their straw-y pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there. To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave in these years. Yet I feel, if someone said on Christmas Eve, Come, see the oxen kneel, and the lonely Barton by yonder come, our childhood used to know. I should go with him in the gloom, hoping it might be so. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Sam Stinson in Wichita, Kansas, in December 2006. The Oxen by Thomas Hardy. Christmas Eve and twelve o'clock. Now they are all on their knees. An elder said as we sat in a flock by the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where they dwelt in their straw-y pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there. To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave in these years. Yet I feel if someone said on Christmas Eve, Come, see the oxen kneel, and the lonely Barton by yonder come, our childhood used to know. I should go with him in the gloom, hoping it might be so. The Oxen by Thomas Hardy. Read for LibriVox.org by William Hazeltine on December 19, 2006, in Memphis, Tennessee. Christmas Eve and twelve o'clock. Now they are all on their knees. An elder said as we sat in a flock by the embers in hearth-side ease. We pictured the meek, mild creatures where they dwelt in their straw-y pen. Nor did it occur to one of us there. To doubt they were kneeling then. So fair a fancy few would weave in these years. Yet I feel if someone said on Christmas Eve, Come, see the oxen kneel, and the lonely Barton by yonder come, our childhood used to know. I should go with him in the gloom, hoping it might be so. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.