It was terribly cold, and nearly dark

On the last evening of the old year

And the snow was falling fast.

In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets

It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home,

But they were not of much use.

They were very large—so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother,

And the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages

That were rolling along at a terrible rate.

One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it.

So the little girl went on with her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold.

In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands.

No one had bought anything from her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny.

Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along;

Poor little child! The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair,

Which hung in curls on her shoulders.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose

For it was New Year’s Eve—yes, she remembered that.

In a corner, between two houses, she sank down and huddled herself together.

She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold;

And she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches,

And could not take home even a penny of money.

Her father would certainly beat her;

Besides, it was almost as cold at home as here

For they had only the roof to cover them.

Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold.

Ah! Perhaps a burning match might be some good,

If she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers.

She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burned!

It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it.

It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove

With polished brass feet.

How the fire burned!

And seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them

When, lo! The flame of the match went out

The stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand

She rubbed another match on the wall.

It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil

And she could see into the room.

The table was covered with a snowy white tablecloth

On which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose

Stuffed with apples and dried plums.

Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas tree.

Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches,

And colored pictures, like those she had seen in the shop windows, looked down upon it all.

The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky.

Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire.

“Someone is dying,” thought the little girl,

For her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her,

And who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her;

In the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining

“Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O, take me with you!

I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish

Like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the glorious Christmas tree.”

And she made haste to light a whole bundle of matches,

For she wished to keep her grandmother there.

And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noonday,

And her grandmother had never appeared so beautiful.

She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth

Where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

The New Year’s sun rose and shone upon the little girl

She still sat, in the stiffness of death

Holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt.

“She tried to warm herself,” said someone.

No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen

Nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on that New Year’s Day.

Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.

[...] Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.