by Barnes
The tall trees and the goodly trees raised each a lofty head,
In glad and secret confidence, though not a word they said.
But one, the baby of the band, could not restrain a sigh:
“You all will be approved,” he said, “but oh, what chance have I?
I am so small, so very small, no one will mark or know
How thick and green my needles are, how true my branches grow;
Few toys or candles could I hold, but heart and will are free,
And in my heart of hearts I know I am a Christmas-tree.”
The Christmas angel hovered near; he caught the grieving word,
And laughing low he hurried forth, with love and pity stirred.
He sought and found St. Nicholas, the dear old Christmas Saint,
And in his fatherly kind ear rehearsed the fir-tree’s plaint.
Saints are all powerful, we know, so it befell that day
That, axe on shoulder, to the grove a woodman took his way.
One baby-girl he had at home, and he went forth to find
A little tree as small as she, just suited to his mind.
Oh, glad and proud the baby-fir, amid its brethren tall,
To be thus chosen and singled out, the first among them all!
He stretched his fragrant branches, his little heart beat fast.
He was a real Christmas-tree: he had his wish at last.
One large and shining apple with cheeks of ruddy gold,
Six tapers, and a tiny doll were all that he could hold.
The baby laughed, the baby crowed to see the tapers bright;
The forest baby felt the joy, and shared in the delight.
And when at last the tapers died, and when the baby slept,
The little fir in silent night a patient vigil kept.
Though scorched and brown its needles were, it had no heart to grieve.
“I have not lived in vain,” he said. “Thank God for Christmas-eve!”
When His Whip Goes Crack
John H. Cook
Our good St. Nick is on his way;
His prancing steeds are near.
We hear the sound of silver bells;
His sleigh is almost here.
A load of gifts is stored for all
Securely in his pack
For he travels like the lightning,
When his whip goes CRACK!
Through all the year with plane and saw
He worked in his wondrous shop;
So much there was for him to do,
That he never dared to stop;
But when the gifts were all complete
They made a mighty stack.
He will surely bring them with him,
When his whip goes CRACK!
Now when we light our Christmas tree,
Oh, what a glorious sight!
With countless waxen candles lit,
And burning there so bright.
Our good old friend will load it down,
There will surely be no lack;
He always keeps his promise,
When his whip goes CRACK!
So hang your stockings large and small,
Convenient in a row,
For they will look so tempting when
They’re filled from top to toe.
Our generous saint will never fail;
He has a curious knack
Of giving right good measure,
When his whip goes CRACK!
Christmas Snow
Harriet Prescott Spofford
The air is full of frozen flowers;
The snow, the snow is falling,
And all the voices of the north
Upon the winds are calling.
Come, high winds, low winds, sing across the snowing
Swells and falls and dying lulls and wild breath blowing!
Weird realm of wonder and of awe,
With ice-fields darkly crashing.
Where cohorts of the cold go forth,
With great auroras flashing,
Your high winds, low winds, blow across the meadows,
Blow, with all your bitter will, with all your eery shadows.
Blow, you dark north, o’er hill and dale,
With many a mile of drifting,
From dawn till purple twilight blow,
Swift, swift your silver sifting,—
Yet sweet world, yet glad world, despite the stormy singing,
The heart of all the earth is warm while Christmas bells are ringing!
A New-Fashioned Christmas
Julie M. Lippmann
We had been busy talking, for hours, Christmas eve,
Of all the great improvements until—will you believe?—
I felt quite dull and drowsy, and said, ’twixt yawn and sigh,
“Oh! anything old-fashioned had best pass out and die!”
And then I leaned back smiling and quite self-satisfied.
And closed my eyelids slowly, when, lo! they opened wide
In sheer amaze and wonder, and would you know the cause?
I saw before me standing, the form of Santa Claus.
But, oh! so strange and altered! In clothes of latest style,
And not at all the Santa I’d dreamed of all the while.
But still I recognized him, and said: “I didn’t see
You come out from the chimney,—’twas very dull of me.”
“The chimney?” said he gruffly, “I beg of you to know
I clamber down no chimneys; I stopped that long ago!”
I said, “Your load was heavy, you’re tired; won’t you rest?”
“Oh, no,” he answered grandly, “my goods were all expressed!”
“You must have found it pleasant—the sleighing, sir, I mean.
The roofs are much more snowy than I have ever seen.”
“Indeed!”—his air was lofty—“’tis not the present mode
To drive a sleigh. I travel by the elevated road.”
’Twas all so strange it chilled me, but still I said, “Now, please,
You won’t forget to send us one of your Christmas-trees.
The children love you dearly and try to be so good.”
He said: “No trees hereafter, I’d have it understood.
“In fact, the time is over for Christmas. I should say
Those very old-time customs have really passed away.
We want the very latest, dear madam, you and I,
And peace, good will, and Christmas are of a time gone by.”
And then he seemed preparing to take his leave and go.
But do you think I let him? I called out bravely, “No!”
I ran to him and begged him, between my sobs and tears,
To leave us blessed Christmas, just as in former years.
To change no little custom; to take no part away;
To leave us dear old-fashioned, beloved Christmas day.
And then, for just an instant, my eyes were very dim
With tears, and when I cleared them, I saw a change in him:
His face, ’twas round and jolly, his clothes, were as of old,
He had a pack upon his back as full as it could hold.
And as he beamed upon me I heard his reindeer prance.
Then sly old Santa gave me a smile and roguish glance.
“I wish you Merry Christmas!” I thought I heard him say.
And when I tried to answer him, he’d vanished quite away!
But though they say I dreamed it, I know we shall have still
Our dear old-fashioned Christmas, bringing “Peace on earth, good will!”
Image Credits
All images from private collections, with the following exceptions:
Alamy: ©19th era: 122
British Library: 215, 326, 329, 344
Dover: i, vi, vii, 330, 342, 346, 349, 351, 355
Internet Archive: 144
iStock: © ChrisGorgio: x, 143, 354; © duncan1890: v, xi,
333, 336, 338, 339, 341, 352; © Maljuk: throughout (holly); © paprika: viii; © Shilovka: 356
Mary Evans Picture Library: 94, 127, 128, 136, 137
