Chapter 14 - Christmas Verse

Week Before Christmas By Eleanor Alletta Chaffee

God bless all little boys who stand outside Gay Yuletide windows, with a stubborn pride Calculating how far present cash May go; then suddenly resolved and rash, Darting within to watch with restless eyes The wrapping of the Annual Surprise.

God bless all little boys who toss and turn The few nights left to Christmas, and who burn With agonizing doubt. . . Would that be better Chains them to alternation like a fetter.

God bless all little boys who do not know
That all in vain is indecisive woe.
Their gifts are richer to a mother's heart
Than all the gold man's dreams can set apart,
God bless them all together, in the Name
Of heaven's Gift, and Him through Whom it came.

A Christmas Carol By Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap
His hair was like a light. (O weary,
weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,
His hair was like a star. (O stern and
cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire. {O
weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown, And all the
flowers looked up at Him
And all the stars looked down.

Prayer By John Farrar

Last night I crept across the snow,
Where only tracking rabbits go, And
then I waited quite alone Until the
Christmas radiance shone!

At midnight twenty angels came, Each
white and shining like a flame. At
midnight twenty angels sang, The Stars
swung out like bells and rang.

They lifted me across the hill, They
bore me in their arms until A
greater glory greeted them. It was
the town of Bethlehem.
 
And gently, then, they set me down,
All worshipping that holy town, And
gently, then, they bade me raise My
head to worship and to praise.

And gently, then, the Christ smiled down. Ah, there was glory in that town! It was as if the world were free And glistening with purity.

Arid in that vault of crystal blue, It was as if the world were new, And myriad angels, file on file, Gloried in the Christ-Child's smile.

It was so beautiful to see
Such glory, for a child like me,
So beautiful, it does not seem
It could have been a Christmas dream.

Gates And Doors By Joyce Kilmer

There was a gentle hostler (And blessed be his name!) He opened up the stable The night Our Lady came. Our Lady and Saint Joseph, He gave them food and bed, And Jesus  Christ has given him A glory round his head.

So let the gate swing open However poor the yard, Lest weary people visit you And find their passage barred; Unlatch the door at midnight And let your lanterns glow Shine out to guide the traveler's feet To you across the snow.

There was a courteous hostler ¢ He is in Heaven tonight) He held Our Lady's bridle And helped her to alight; He spread clean straw before her Whereon she might lie down, And Jesus  Christ has given him An everlasting crown.

Unlock the door this evening And let your gate swing wide, Let all who ask for shelter Come speedily inside. What if your yard be narrow ? What if your house he small ? There is a Guest is coming Will glorify it all.

There was a joyous hostler Who knelt on Christmas morn Beside the radiant manger Wherein his Lord was born. His heart was full of laughter, His soul was full of bliss When Jesus , on His Mother's lap, Gave him His hand to kiss.

Unbar your heart this evening
And keep no stranger out,
Take from your soul's great portal
The barrier of doubt.
To humble folk and weary
Give hearty welcoming,
Your breast shall be tomorrow
The cradle of a King.

A Visit From Saint Nicholas By Clement C. Moore

I was the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums 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 on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below;
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick!
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away 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 coursers they flew,
With a sleigh full of toys and Saint Nicholas, too.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump a right jolly old elf;
And I laughed, when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He
sprang in his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

Christmas In Olden Time By Sir Walter Scott

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill; But, let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deemed the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer.

And well our Christmas sires of old Loved, when the year its course had rolled And brought blithe Christmas back again With all its hospitable train, With social and religious rite To honor all the holy night. On Christmas-eve the bells were rung; On Christmas-eve the mass was sung. Then opened wide the Baron's hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And Ceremony doffed her pride. All hailed with uncontrolled delight And general voice the happy night, That to the cottage, as the crown, Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall-table's oaken face, Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord.

Then came the merry maskers in And carols roared with blithesome din. If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note and strong. England was merry England when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year.

Christmas And New Year Bells By Alfred Tennyson

The time draws near the birth of Christ: The
moon is hid; the night is still; The
Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.

Four voices of four hamlets round, From far
and near, on mead and moor, Swell out
and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:

Each voice four changes on the wind, That
now dilate, and now decrease, Peace
and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.

This year I slept and woke with pain, I
almost wish'd no more to wake, And that
my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:

But they the troubled spirit rule, For they
controll'd me when a boy; They bring me
sorrow touch'd with joy,
The merry, merry bells of Yule.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:

The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring,
happy bells, across the snow: The year
is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
 
Ring out a slowly dying cause, And
ancient forms of party strife; Ring
in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The
faithless coldness of the times; Ring
out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite; Ring in
the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring
out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out
the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free, The
larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

The Mahogany Tree By William Makepeace Thackeray

Christmas is here; Winds
whistle shrill, Icy and
chill, Little care we: Little we fear
Weather without, Sheltered about
The Mahogany Tree.

Commoner greens, Ivy
and oaks, Poets, in jokes,
Sing, do you see? Good
fellows' shins
Here, boys, are found,
Twisting around The
Mahogany Tree.

Once on the boughs Birds
of rare plume Sang in its
bloom; Night birds are we:
Here we carouse, Singing
like them, Perched round
the stem Of the jolly old tree.

Here let us sport,
Boys, as we sit;
Laughter and
Flashing so free. Life is
but short When we
are gone, Let them
sing on, Round the old tree.

Evenings we knew, Happy
as this; Faces we miss,
Pleasant to see. Kind hearts
and true, Gentle and just,
Peace to your dust! We
sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun, Lurks at
the gate: Let the dog wait;
Happy we'll be! Drink
every one; Pile up the
coals, Fill the red bowls,
Round the old tree.

Drain we the cup
Friend, art afraid?
Spirits are laid In the
Red Sea. Mantle it up;
Empty it yet;
Let us forget, Round the old tree.

Sorrows, begone! Life
and its ills, Duns and

their bills, Bid we
flee. Come with the
dawn, Blue-devil
sprite; Leave us
tonight, Round the old tree.

Yule-Tide Fires Author Unknown

Light with the burning log of oak
The darkness of thy care,
Deck with the scarlet-berried bough
The temple of the fair;
Spread pure white linen for a feast,
Perchance some guest may share.
Give forth thy gold and silver coins,
For they were lent to thee;
Put out to usury thy dross,
One talent gaineth three.
Perchance the hungered and the poor
May pray to God for thee.
Once a pale star rose in the East
For watching herds to see,
And weakness came to Bethlehem,
And strength to Galilee.
Perchance! If thou dost keep thy tryst
A star may rise for thee.

The Three Kings By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar; Three Wise
Men out of the East were they, And they
traveled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large, and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky Became a
white mist in the atmosphere, And by this they
knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys; Their
robes were of crimson silk with rows Of bells
and pomegranates and furbelows, Their
turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell, And
sometimes they nodded with beard on breast, And
sometimes they talked, as they paused to rest, With
the people they met at some wayside well.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,
"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news; For
we in the East have seen his star, And have
ridden fast, and have ridden far, To find and
worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain;
We know of no king but Herod the Great!"
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain,
Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem, And
bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of morn; Yes, it
stopped, it stood still of its own free will, Right
over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay, In the air
made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,
The child, that would be king one day Of
a kingdom not human but divine.

His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death

Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was their tribute to a King,
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone;
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array; But
they went not back to Herod the Great, For they
knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.

Christmas Everywhere By Phillips Brooks

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight! Christmas
in lands of the fir-tree and pine, Christmas in lands of
the palm-tree and vine, Christmas where snow peaks
stand solemn and white, Christmas where corn fields
stand sunny and bright. Christmas where children are
hopeful and gay, Christmas where old men are patient
and gray, Christmas where peace, like a dove in his
flight, Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight;

Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight!
For the Christ-Child who comes is the Master of all;
No palace too great, no cottage too small.