The Trapper's Christmas Eve-Robert W. Service (1874-1958)

The Trappers Christmas Eve.

It's mighty lonesome-like and drear.

Above the Wild the moon rides high,
And shows up sharp and needle-clear
The emptiness of earth and sky;
No happy homes with love a-glow;
No Santa Claus to make believe:
Just snow and snow, and then more snow;
It's Christmas Eve, it's Christmas Eve.

And here am I where all things end,
And Undesirables are hurled;
A poor old man without a friend,
Forgot and dead to all the world;
Clean out of sight and out of mind . . .
Well, maybe it is better so;
We all in life our level find,
And mine, I guess, is pretty low.

Yet as I sit with pipe alight
Beside the cabin-fire, it's queer
This mind of mine must take to-night
The backward trail of fifty year.
The school-house and the Christmas tree;
The children with their cheeks a-glow;
Two bright blue eyes that smile on me . . .
Just half a century ago.

Again (it's maybe forty years),
With faith and trust almost divine,
These same blue eyes, abrim with tears,
Through depths of love look into mine.
A parting, tender, soft and low,
With arms that cling and lips that cleave . . .
Ah me! it's all so long ago,
Yet seems so sweet this Christmas Eve.

Just thirty years ago, again . . .
We say a bitter, LAST good-bye;
Our lips are white with wrath and pain;
Our little children cling and cry.
Whose was the fault? it matters not,
For man and woman both deceive;
It's buried now and all forgot,
Forgiven, too, this Christmas Eve.

And she (God pity me) is dead;
Our children men and women grown.
I like to think that they are wed,
With little children of their own,
That crowd around their Christmas tree . . .
I would not ever have them grieve,
Or shed a single tear for me,
To mar their joy this Christmas Eve.

Stripped to the buff and gaunt and still
Lies all the land in grim distress.
Like lost soul wailing, long and shrill,
A wolf-howl cleaves the emptiness.
Then hushed as Death is everything.
The moon rides haggard and forlorn . . .
"O hark the herald angels sing!"
God bless all men -- it's Christmas morn.
--Robert W. Service

The Christmas Tree-Robert Service (1878-1958)

       "I administer the subsidiary rights to this poetry throughout the British Commonwealth based upon a British statute of 1911 which reverts copyright to estates 25 years after death. U.S. rights have a renewal provision for copyrights upon their 28th year but many are the Robert Service poems that are of an age from before 1923 wherein public domain sets in which means no U.S. copyright control or right to object to use."

This work is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1923.

The author died in 1958, so this work is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN in countries and areas (such as the internet) where longer copyright terms might be in effect but that apply the rule of the shorter term to FOREIGN WORKS.

This poem (and all other works of Robert William Service) is PUBLIC DOMAIN

 not subject to any copyright my blogs and postings do NOT infringe upon anyone else's rights
and should NOT be linked to any other site.

Neither this blog, or any of my postings there in, should not be linked to and there is absolutely no connection between, my blogs and or anything posted by Bryant McGill.

 While it is obvious that he very much likes to pretend that he has: HE DOES NOT HAVE ANY LEGAL COPYRIGHTS ON WORKS THAT ARE;

 PART OF EVERY ONE'S HERITAGE.

By so pretending Mr McGill becomes guilty of very blatant plagiarism.

     The Christmas Tree

        While very few think of it as such, 
        the famous Robert W. Service. poem,
        The Cremation of Sam McGee
        can also be labelled as a
        Christmas poem. 

In the dark and damp of the alley cold, Lay the Christmas tree that hadn't been sold; By a shopman dourly thrown outside; With the ruck and rubble of Christmas-tide; Trodden deep in the muck and mire, Unworthy even to feed a fire... So I stopped and salvaged that tarnished tree, And thus is the story it told to me: "My Mother was Queen of the forest glade, And proudly I prospered in her shade; For she said to me: 'When I am dead, You will be monarch in my stead, And reign, as I, for a hundred years, A tower of triumph amid your peers, When I crash in storm I will yield you space; Son, you will worthily take my place.' "So I grew in grace like a happy child, In the heart of the forest free and wild; And the moss and the ferns were all about, And the craintive mice crept in and out; And a wood-dove swung on my highest twig, And a chipmunk chattered: 'So big! So big!' And a shy fawn nibbled a tender shoot, And a rabbit nibbled under my root... Oh, I was happy in rain and shine As I thought of the destiny that was mine! Then a man with an axe came cruising by And I knew that my fate was to fall and die. "With a hundred others he packed me tight, And we drove to a magic city of light, To an avenue lined with Christmas trees, And I thought: may be I'll be one of these, Tinselled with silver and tricked with gold, A lovely sight for a child to behold; A-glitter with lights of every hue, Ruby and emerald, orange and blue, And kiddies dancing, with shrieks of glee - One might fare worse than a Christmas tree. "So they stood me up with a hundred more In the blaze of a big department store; But I thought of the forest dark and still, And the dew and the snow and the heat and the chill, And the soft chinook and the summer breeze, And the dappled deer and the birds and the bees... I was so homesick I wanted to cry, But patient I waited for someone to buy. And some said 'Too big,' and some 'Too small,' And some passed on saying nothing at all. Then a little boy cried: Ma, buy that one,' But she shook her head: 'Too dear, my son." So the evening came, when they closed the store, And I was left on the littered floor, A tree unwanted, despised, unsold, Thrown out at last in the alley cold." Then I said: "Don't sorrow; at least you'll be A bright and beautiful New Year's tree, All shimmer and glimmer and glow and gleam, A radiant sight like a fairy dream. For there is a little child I know, Who lives in poverty, want and woe; Who lies abed from morn to night, And never has known an hour's delight..." So I stood the tree at the foot of her bed: "Santa's a little late," I said. "Poor old chap! Snowbound on the way, But he's here at last, so let's be gay." Then she woke from sleep and she saw you there, And her eyes were love and her lips were prayer. And her thin little arms were stretched to you With a yearning joy that they never knew. She woke from the darkest dark to see Like a heavenly vision, that Christmas Tree. Her mother despaired and feared the end, But from that day she began to mend, To play, to sing, to laugh with glee... Bless you, O little Christmas Tree! You died, but your life was not in vain: You helped a child to forget her pain, And let hope live in our hearts again. Robert Service 1878-1958

White Christmas-Robert W. Service (1874-1958)

The Younger Son

My folks think I'm a serving maid
Each time I visit home;
They do not dream I ply a trade
As old as Greece or Rome;
For if they found I'd fouled their name
And was not white as snow,
I'm sure that they would die of shame . . .
Please, God, they'll never know.

I clean the paint from off my face,
In sober black I dress;
Of coquetry I leave no trace
To give them vague distress;
And though it causes me a pang
To play such sorry tricks,
About my neck I meekly hang
A silver crufix.

And so with humble step I go
Just like a child again,
To greet their Christmas candle-glow,
A soul without a stain;
So well I play my contrite part
I make myself believe
There's not a stain within my heart
On Holy Christmas Eve.

With double natures we are vext,
And what we feel, we are;
A saint one day, a sinner next,
A red light or a star;
A prostitute or proselyte,
And in each part sincere:
So I become a vestal white
One week in every year.

For this I say without demur
From out life's lurid lore,
Each righteous women has in her
A tincture of the whore;
While every harpy of the night,
As I have learned too well;
Holds in her heart a heaven-light
To ransom her from hell.

So I'll go home and sweep and dust;
I'll make the kitchen fire,
And be a model of daughters just
The best they could desire;
I'll fondle them and cook their food,
And Mother dear will say:
"Thank God! my darling is as good
As when she went away."

But after New Year's Day I'll fill
My bag and though they grieve,
I'll bid them both good-bye until
Another Christmas Eve;
And then . . . a knock upon the door:
I'll find them waiting there,
And angel-like I'll come once more
In answer to their prayer.

Then Lo! one night when candle-light
Gleams mystic on the snow,
And music swells of Christmas bells,
I'll come, no more to go:
The old folks need my love and care,
Their gold shall gild my dross,
And evermore my breast shall bear
My little silver cross. 

A B C's of Christmas

---

A is for Angels With halos so bright Whose carols were heard On that first Christmas NightB is for Bells So merrily ringing Joy to the world Is the message they're bringing C is for Candles That so brightly shine To give a warm welcome To your friends and mine D is for Doorway With garlands of green To make Christmas merry As far as they're seen E is for Evergreens With fragrance so rare So plentiful at Christmas Their scent fills the air F is for Fun The whole season long From trimming the tree To singing a song G is for Greetings A merry "hello" With a heart full of love For people we know H is for Holly With berries so red To make into wreaths To hang overhead I is for Ice On snow covered hills Where sledding is fun Along with the spills J is for Jesus The Christ child to dear We honor his birth On Christmas each year K is for Kris Kringle So merrily he stands He is who they call Santa In so many lands L is for Lanterns I am sure that their light Helped Mary and Joseph That first Christmas NightM is for Mary Her heart full of love For her little son Jesus Who came from above

N is for Noel The angels did sing To herald the birth of Jesus, our kingO is for Ornaments So shining and bright With lights on the tree To sparkle at night P is for Packages With ribbons so gay All 'round the tree For our Christmas Day Q is for Quiet Christmas Eve Night With snow covered hills Glistening so bright R is for Reindeer Who pull Santa's sleigh To your house, to my house They know the way S is for Shepherds Who first saw the star Over Bethlehem's manger And followed it far T is for Trees We decorate so gay Then wait for ol' Santa To hurry our way U is for Universe Where Christmas brings joy To all in world To each girl and each boy V is for Visiting Friends near and far We travel by plane Or by bus, or by car W is for Wise Men Who brought gifts so rare And knelt down and worshiped The child they found there X is for X-mas Or Christmas by full name No matter the language It all means the same Y is for Yule Logs Whose bright sparks fly high To give a warm welcome To friends passing byZ is for Zeal We show at this time In giving to others And loving mankind

Is There A Santa Clause?

---

We take pleasure in answering at once and thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

       Dear Editor, I am 8 years old.

         Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. 

          Papa says "If you see it in The Sun it's so."

          Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?

                                             

                                             Virginia O'Hanlon

                                   115 West Ninety-fifth St.

VIRGINIA, Your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, not even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.This article originally appeared on the editorial page of the New York Sun, September 21, 1897, and was reprinted for many years in the December 24 editions of the newspaper.

Can Santa Be Black? by B. J. Wrights

---

It happened in the kindergarten class,
Right at the table where they were having snack.
Joanie asked the question and they all sat back:
"Mr. Slater? Can Santa Claus be black?"

Poor Mr. Slater didn't know what to say,
Christmas vacation was twenty days away.
There were snowflakes to cut and
Window wreaths to be hung,
Christmas cards to be painted,
And Christmas songs to be sung.

He hadn't time to think
What Christmas was about,
In twenty more days,
School would be out!
Why couldn't they wait
And ask their questions then,
When mommies and daddies
Were home to answer them?
"Mr. Slater? Can Santa be thin?"
"Is Santa Clause always a him?"

Mr. Slater looked at twenty pairs of eyes,
Twenty children of every shape and size.
He ate a bit of cracker and finished his drink.
"Children," he said,
"I'll need some time to think."
As soon as class was over,
He ran down the hall,
Skidded 'round a corner,
Crashed into a wall.
Ran up the steps to the second floor,
Rapped on the window of the principal's door.

"Ms. Frazer, Ms. Frazer, what can I do?
The children asked these questions
That now I ask of you:

'Can Santa Claus be black?'
'Can Santa Claus be thin?'
'Does Santa always have to be a him?'"

"Mr. Slater, it's a difficult task
To find answers to the questions you ask.
I think with these I'll need some assistance,
But I'll get you the answers with a little persistence."

Ms. Frazer turned in her swivel chair,
Picked up the phone and dialed Mr. Dare.
Mr. Dare was the head of the P.T.A.,
He called for a meeting the very next day.

"Thank you for coming,"
He began with a greeting.
"I'd like to get right to the point of this meeting.
Mr. Slater, in charge of the kindergarten class,
Needs the answers to some questions
And he needs them fast."

"'Can Santa be black?'
"'Can Santa be thin?'
"'Does Santa always have to be a him?'"

The parents didn't know what to say,
Christmas vacation was nineteen days away.
There were cookies to bake and lights to string,
Gifts to wrap and carols to sing.

They hadn't time to think
What Christmas was about,
In nineteen more days
School would be out!
Why did children have to ask questions when
Parents had no time to sit and answer them?

"Well, Parents?
Are there any suggestions?
Do we have any answers
To these difficult questions?"

"Who knows best
What Christmas is about?
Let's ask Santa!"
Someone called out in a shout.

The secretary of the P.T.A.
Sent a letter to Santa the very next day.
The reply came back very, very fast,
Addressed to Mr. Slater
And the kindergarten class.

Dear Mr. Slater, Dear Girls, Dear Boys,
Once a storywriter caught me bringing you toys.
The year he spied me opening my sack,
My skin was white, my boots were black.
You probably know how that story goes . . .
I laid a finger aside my nose?
All these years, needlessly,
That story worries children who don't have a chimney.
All year long I listen to the news,
Read people's thoughts, see people's views.
At the end of the year, when I see what's needed most,
I take that shape, like a Christmas ghost.
I can pass through keyholes, windows and locks,
Apartment buildings, hospitals, tents, and trailer lots.

One year I used a wheelchair in place of my sleigh,
Once I was blind and had to feel my way.
It's hard to understand when I don't leave a toy:
You can't unwrap a gift like hope or health or joy.
My skin has been black, white, yellow, red, brown;
My eyes have been slanted, crossed, and round.
Sometimes I have been a she:
All these things are a part of me.
You may not believe all this is true,
But that's okay, boys and girls, because . . .
I believe in you. 

Silent Night, Holy Night.

There have been many stories of the origins of the Christmas carol “Silent Night, Holy Night.” One of the most popularly told one is as follows:

In the winter of 1818 at St. Nicholas’ Church at Obendorf, a village near Salzburg, Austria, Joseph Mohr, the assistant to the priest, faced a dilemma. It was just days before Christmas, and the church organ which was so important to providing music for the Christmas services was broken. Since the organ repairman was not a local of the village it would actually be months before the repair could be made, and Christmas would be long past.

His solution to the problem of the broken organ resulted in one of the most popular Christmas carols of all time. In 1816 Mohr had written a simple poem that the villagers could understand expressing the wonder of the birth of Jesus. He asked his friend Franz Gruber who was the organist at St. Nicholas to write music to accompany his poem so that they could sing it together using a guitar to accompany their singing.

They first performed their newly composed Christmas carol at the Christmas Eve midnight service on December 24, 1818. It did not instantly receive the worldwide recognition it has come to know, however. It was not until years later in 1825 when Carl Mauracher was rebuilding the organ at St. Nicholas that a handwritten copy of the words and music was found in the organ loft.

Mauracher was from an area in the mountains of Tyrol which had many traveling folk choirs who performed throughout Europe. He carried the carol back home, and it became a popular song with the choirs as they traveled and spread its popularity wherever they went.

In some versions of the story it is told that mice had eaten the bellows of the organ. Others say that Gruber himself had broken the organ. It is believed that there was frequent flooding of the area that caused rust and mildew to affect the condition of the church organ often making it unplayable. It is actually not known however if the organ was truly broken at Christmastime of 1818. Some say that Mohr simply wanted a new carol for the service and was fond of the guitar as an instrument. Some stories tell that both the poem and the music were hastily written that Christmas Eve. A manuscript for “Silent Night” in Mohr’s hand was discovered in 1995 which is dated 1816. In the manuscript Mohr credits the melody used for the carol to Franz Gruber.

Whatever the details of the circumstances, Joseph Mohr’s and Franz Gruber’s contribution of Christmas music for their village’s Christmas Eve midnight mass gave us all the beautiful “Silent Night, Holy Night.

A Soldiers Christmas by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan

---

'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE, JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT CAME THROUGH MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.

WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO, THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS WHO WERE
WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD, THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD, MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS.

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.

I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE;

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH, AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT,
MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.

This poem was written by a Marine stationed in Okinawa Japan; The following is his request I think it is reasonable.....

PLEASE. Would you do me the kind favor of sending this to as may people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe. Make people stop and think of our service people, living and dead, who sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your small part to plant this small seed.

WWI Christmas Truce Started By Thousands Of German Soldiers By Tony Paterson The Independent - UK 12-24-03

 

BERLIN --The Christmas truce of the Great War in 1914 was started by a "peace movement" of German soldiers who won over their trenchbound British foes by lobbing chocolate cake at them instead of hand grenades, a new book claims.   The interpretation of the events on the Western Front on Christmas Eve 1914 is made by Michael Jürgs whose book, The Small Peace in the Great War is the first to be written about the ceasefire from a German perspective.   The book has received wide publicity in Germany where its findings have been welcomed, not least because they help to dispel the stereotype of the German soldier as a ruthless fighting machine.   "This is the friendly Hun from next door," wrote Markus Hesselmann in Berlin's Der Tagesspiegel newspaper. "It's about German front line soldiers not obeying orders and making peace by leaving their weapons behind."   Jürgs compares the actions of German soldiers in 1914 to those of the country's peace movement opposing the Iraq war. "There were not merely one or two incidents of peace on the Western Front in 1914," he writes. "In reality there was a spontaneous peace movement which ran for hundreds of kilometres and thousands took part," he adds.   His book reveals that German troops began preparing for the truce well in advance. Several days before Christmas, soldiers from a Saxon regiment lobbed a carefully packaged chocolate cake across no- man's land into the British trenches. A message was attached asking whether holding a one-hour ceasefire that evening might be possible, so that the troops could celebrate their captain's birthday.   According to Jürgs, the British stopped firing, stood on their trench parapets and applauded as a German band struck up a rendition of "Happy Birthday". Jürgs quotes from the diary of Kurt Zehmisch, a German lieutenant who describes how thousands of German Christmas trees delivered to the front line helped to bring about the ceasefire. "It was pure illumination - along the trench parapets there were Christmas trees lit up by burning candles," Zehmisch writes. "The British responded by shouting and clapping."   What followed was a bout of unprecedented fraternisation between enemy forces that has never been repeated on an equivalent scale: German Fritzes bearing candles, chunks of cake and cigars met British Tommies carrying cigarettes and Christmas pudding in no-man's land. The two sides exchanged presents, sang songs and played football, using tin cans for makeshift balls and spiked Pickelhaube helmets for goalposts.   Jürgs says the Germans were able to take the initiative because many had been in Britain as "guest workers" before the war and, unlike most of the British, had a command of the enemy's language.   The truce collapsed shortly after Christmas 1914 when news of the ceasefire reached the horrified high commands and strict military discipline was reinforced. Jürgs writes that in one area, Ploegsteert forest in Belgium, the ceasefire continued until the end of February 1915

Twas the Night before Christmas Poem

Clement Clarke Moore (1779 - 1863) wrote the poem

Twas the night before Christmas also called

 “A Visit from St. Nicholas" in 1822.

 It is now the tradition in many families to read the poem every Christmas Eve.

The poem Twas the night before Christmas has redefined our image

 of Christmas and Santa Claus.

 Prior to the creation of the story of Twas the night before

 Christmas St. Nicholas,

 the patron saint of children, had never been associated with a sleigh or reindeer!

Twas 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 St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.

And mamma 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 the 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 the lustre of mid-day to objects below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St 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, on Donner 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 house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys, and St 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 St 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 of 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 bowlful 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 to 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!"