A Vintage Christmas

by Thomas Nelson

  WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

  1811–1863

  THE MAHOGANY TREE

  Christmas is here;

  Winds whistle shrill,

  Icy and chill,

  Little care we;

  Little we fear

  Weather without,

  Sheltered about

  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 wit

  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 to flee.

  Come with the dawn,

  Blue-devil sprite!

  Leave us to-night,

  Round the old tree.

  CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

  1830-1894

  A CHRISTMAS CAROL

  In the bleak mid-winter

  Frosty wind made moan,

  Earth stood hard as iron,

  Water like a stone;

  Snow had fallen, snow on snow,

  Snow on snow,

  In the bleak mid-winter

  Long ago.

  Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him

  Nor earth sustain;

  Heaven and earth shall flee away

  When He comes to reign:

  In the bleak midwinter

  A stable-place sufficed

  The Lord God Almighty

  Jesus Christ.

  Enough for Him, whom cherubim

  Worship night and day,

  A breastful of milk

  And a mangerful of hay;

  Enough for Him, whom angels

  Fall down before,

  The ox and ass and camel

  Which adore.

  Angels and archangels

  May have gathered there,

  Cherubim and seraphim

  Thronged the air;

  But only His mother

  In her maiden bliss

  Worshipped the Beloved

  With a kiss.

  What can I give Him,

  Poor as I am?

  If I were a shepherd

  I would bring a lamb,

  If I were a Wise Man

  I would do my part,—

  Yet what I can I give Him,

  Give my heart.

  PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR

  1872-1906

  CHRISTMAS IN THE HEART

  The snow lies deep upon the ground,

  And winter’s brightness all around

  Decks bravely out the forest sere,

  With jewels of the brave old year.

  The coasting crowd upon the hill

  With some new spirit seems to thrill;

  And all the temple bells achime.

  Ring out the glee of Christmas time.

  In happy homes the brown oak-bough

  Vies with the red-gemmed holly now;

  And here and there, like pearls, there show

  The berries of the mistletoe.

  A sprig upon the chandelier

  Says to the maidens, “Come not here!”

  Even the pauper of the earth

  Some kindly gift has cheered to mirth!

  Within his chamber, dim and cold,

  There sits a grasping miser old.

  He has no thought save one of gain,—

  To grind and gather and grasp and drain.

  A peal of bells, a merry shout

  Assail his ear: he gazes out

  Upon a world to him all gray,

  And snarls, “Why, this is Christmas Day!”

  No, man of ice,—for shame, for shame!

  For “Christmas Day” is no mere name.

  No, not for you this ringing cheer,

  This festal season of the year.

  And not for you the chime of bells

  From holy temple rolls and swells.

  In day and deed he has no part—

  Who holds not Christmas in his heart!

  ROBERT BRIDGES

  1844-1930

  NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE 1913

  A frosty Christmas Eve

  when the stars were shining

  Fared I forth alone

  where westward falls the hill,

  And from many a village

  in the water’d valley

  Distant music reach’d me

  peals of bells aringing:

  The constellated sounds

  ran sprinkling on earth’s floor

  As the dark vault above

  with stars was spangled o’er.

  Then sped my thoughts to keep

  that first Christmas of all

  When the shepherds watching

  by their folds ere the dawn

  Heard music in the fields

  and marveling could not tell

  Whether it were angels

  or the bright stars singing.

  Now blessed be the tow’rs

  that crown England so fair

  That stand up strong in prayer

  unto God for our souls

  Blessed be their founders

  (said I) an’ our country folk

  Who are ringing for Christ

  in the belfries to-night

  With arms lifted to clutch

  the rattling ropes that race

  Into the dark above

  and the mad romping din.

  But to me heard afar

  it was starry music

  Angels’ song, comforting

  as the comfort of Christ

  When he spake tenderly

  to his sorrowful flock:

  The old words came to me

  by the riches of time

  Mellow’d and transfigured

  as I stood on the hill

  Heark’ning in the aspect

  of th’ eternal silence.

  JOYCE KILMER

  1886-1918

  WARTIME CHRISTMAS

  Led by a star, a golden star,

  The youngest star, an olden star,

  Here the kings and the shepherds are,

  Akneeling on the ground.

  What did they come to the inn to see?

  God in the Highest, and this is He,

  A baby asleep on His mother’s knee

  And with her kisses crowned.

  Now is the earth a dreary place,

  A troubled place, a weary place.

  Peace has hidden her lovely face

  And turned in tears away.

  Yet the sun, through the war-cloud, sees

  Babies asleep on their mother’s knees.

  While there are love and home—and these—

  There shall be Christmas Day.