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Jest 'Fore Christmas

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.

207

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS

FATHER calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl-ruther be a boy,

Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by
Fauntleroy!

Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake— Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-ache!

'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no

flies on me,

But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!

But gran 'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show, Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know

That Buff 'lo Bill and cow-boys is good enough for me! Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still, His eyes they keep a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"

The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become

Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz,
That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an’ toys,

Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty

boys;

So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's an'

q's,

An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, an' don't wear out yer

shoes; Say "Yessum

'"Yessur to the men,

to the ladies, an'"

An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie

again;

But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree, Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

Eugene Field [1850-1895]

SANTA CLAUS

He comes in the night! He comes in the night!

He softly, silently comes;

While the little brown heads on the pillows so white

Are dreaming of bugles and drums.

He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
While the white flakes around him whirl;

Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little boy and girl.

209

A Visit from St. Nicholas

His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;

It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,
With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is blown,

As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
And drops to the hearth like a stone.

The little red stockings he silently fills,
Till the stockings will hold no more;

The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down on the floor.

Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;

Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.

He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
Of his goodies he touches not one;

He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
When the dear little folks are done.

Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;

This beautiful mission is his;

Then, children, be good to the little old man,
When you find who the little man is.

Unknown

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

'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,
sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

I

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 tiny 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, 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 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,

At the Sign of the Jolly Jack

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

21I

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.” Clement Clarke Moore [1779-1863]

AT THE SIGN OF THE JOLLY JACK

You merry folk, be of good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.
From open door you'll take no harm
By winter if your hearts are warm;
So ope the door, and hear us carol
The burthen of our Christmas moral-
Be ye merry and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year;
Scrape the fiddle and beat the drum,
And bury the night ere morning come.

There was an inn beside a track,
As it might be, the Jolly Jack;
Upon a night, whate'er its name,
There kept they Christmas all the same.
They sit in jovial round at table,
While Christ was lying in the stable.
They make merry and have good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year;
They scrape the fiddle and beat the drum,
And they'll bury the night ere morning come.

The jolly landlord stands him up,
And welcomes all to bite and sup;
He has a hearty face and red,
He knows not Who lies in his shed.
What harm, if he be honest and true,
That he may be Christ's landlord too?

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