Christmas Carols and Midsummer Songs
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CHRISTMAS CAROLS
Wake from your sleep, sweet Christians, now, and listen.A little songWe have, so sweet it like a star doth glisten,And dance along.Now wake and hark: all brightly it is glowingWith yule flames merry,And o'er it many a holly sprig is growing;And scarlet berry.A bough of evergreen, with wax-lights gleaming,It bravely graces;And o'er its lines the star that's eastward beamingLeaves golden traces.Also, our little song; it sweetly praiseth,Like birds in flocksWhen morning from her bed of roses raisethHer golden locks.But this it is that makes most sweet our story,When all is said:It holds a little Child with rays of gloryAround His head.– M. E. W.CHRISTMAS CAROLS AND MIDSUMMER SONGS
Out of the Northland bleak and bare,O wind with a royal roar,Fly, fly,Through the broad arched sky,Flutter the snow, and rattle and cryAt every silent door —Loud, loud, till the children hear,And meet the day with a ringing cheer:"Hail to the Christmas-tide!"INTO the silent waiting EastT here cometh a shining light —Far, far,Through a dull gray barClosing over a dying starThat watched away the night —Rise, rise, shine and glow,Over a wide white world of snow,Sun of the Christmas-tide!Out of the four great gates of dayA tremulous music swells;Hear, hear,Now sweet and clear,Over and under and far and near,A thousand happy bells:Joy, joy, and jubilee!Good-will to men from sea to sea,This merry Christmas-tide!Lo! in the homes of every landThe children reign to-day;They alone,With our hearts their throne,And never a sceptre but their ownSmall hands to rule and sway!Peace, peace – the Christ-child's love —Flies over the world, a white, white dove,This happy Christmas-tide!THE SILENT CHILDREN
By Elizabeth Stuart PhelpsTHE light was low in the school-room;The day before Christmas dayHad ended. It was darkening in the gardenWhere the Silent Children play.Throughout that House of Pity,The soundless lessons said,The noiseless sport suspended,The voiceless tasks all read,The little deaf-mute children,As still as still could be,Gathered about the master,Sensitive, swift to see,With their fine attentive fingersAnd their wonderful, watchful eyes —What dumb joy he would bring themFor the Christmas eve's surprise!The lights blazed out in the school-roomThe play-ground went dark as death;The master moved in a halo;The children held their breath:"I show you now a wonder —The audiphone," he said.He spoke in their silent language,Like the language of the dead.And answering spake the children,As the dead might answer too:"But what for us, O master?This may be good for you;"But how is our Christmas comingOut of a wise machine?For not like other children'sHave our happy hours been;"And not like other children'sCan they now or ever be!"But the master smiled through the halo:"Just trust a mystery,Then to the waiting marvelThe listening children leant:Like listeners, the shadowsAcross the school-room bent,O my children, for a little,As those who suffer must!Great 'tis to bear denial,But grand it is to trust."While Science, from her silenceOf twice three thousand years,Gave her late salutationTo sealed human ears.Quick signalled then the master:Sweet sang the hidden choir —Their voices, wild and piercing,Broke like a long desireThat to content has strengthened.Glad the clear strains outrang:"Nearer to Thee, oh, nearer!"The pitying singers sang,Happy that Christmas evening:Wise was the master's choice,Who gave the deaf-mute childrenThe blessed human voice.Wise was that other Master,Tender His purpose dim,Who gave His Son on Christmas,To draw us "nearer Him.""Nearer to Thee, oh, nearer,Nearer, my God' to Thee! "Awestruck, the silent childrenHear the great harmony.We are all but silent children,Denied and deaf and dumbBefore His unknown science —Lord, if Thou wilt, we come!A DAY IN WINTER
By Mrs. L. C. WhitonTHROUGH the crimson fires of morningStreaming upward in the East,Leaps the sun, with sudden dawning,Like a captive king released;And December skies reflectedIn the azure hue belowSeem like summer recollectedIn the dreaming of the snow. —It is winter, little children, let the summer,singing, go!There are crisp winds gaily blowingFrom the North and from the West;'Bove the river strongly flowingLies the river's frozen breast:O'er its shining silence crashingSkim the skaters to and fro;And the noonday splendors flashingIn the rainbow colors show. —It is winter, little children, let the summer,singing, go!When the gorgeous day is dying,There is swept a cloud of roseO'er the hill-tops softly lyingIn the flush of sweet repose;And the nests, all white with snowing,In the twilight breezes blow;And the untired moon is showingHer bare heart to the snow. —It is winter, little children, let the summer,singing, go!"TWELVE O'CLOCK, AND ALL'S WELL!"
( A Christmas Rhyme of Might-Have-Been.)By M. S. E. PI KNOW of an Owl,A story-book Owl,And he dwells in a Cloudland tree,So way-high-up you never seeA glimpse of the great white fowl.And this ancient fowl,This story-book Owl,Sometimes to himself he speaks —Once in a thousand years or so —In a voice that crackles and creaksAnd never is heard by the children below:"Tu-whit! tu-whoo!I sleep by day,Of course I do —It's the sensible way."For when little children lie fast asleep,And darkness enshrouds the world so deep,And weary eyes close to gaze only in dreams,This story-book birdWith the big round eyes,Whom nothing escapes,So knowing and wise,Watches and peers, with never a wink,Into crannies and nooks where one might thinkNo danger would come, so peaceful it seems.And prying about, this story-book birdIn the snowy thickOf a Christmas eve —If you will believe —Just in the nickFound the strangest thing that ever you heard:Santa Klaus asleep,All down in a heap,On the floor of his sleighReady packed for the way!And think of the stockings swayingAt 'leven o' the night,With the silent firelightAll over them fitfully playing —A dangling hostFrom the chimney nailsAs warm as toast —But empty, pitiful,They promise a million wailsFrom just one city-full!"Tu-whit! to-whoo!Here's a to-do!"Said the sleepless bird,The wise old owl,The watchful fowl.He flew and he whirred,Soft Cloudland exploring,Led up like an arrowBy the wildest of snoring,Till he stopped,Then droppedOn the edge of a cloud —Oh, the snoring was loud! —Then stalked to that sleigh.Ah, what a fine dose! —He flashed out one claw, andTweaked Santa Klaus' nose.Santa woke with a jump,Sat up in his sleigh,Rubbed his nose —And I don't supposeUnderstands to this day —And gazing around he took in the plight,He seized his reins in the funniest fright,And down he came in the snowy midnightAll rosy and bright —The great, merry elf,Just like himself,Bluster and noise, nonsense and fun,With gifts for the children, everyone;While, soft and far, every bellChimed "Twelve o' the clock and all's well!"And the slumbering world might have heardThe great white wide-winged story-book birdA-calling "Merry Christmas!" forth in gleeAs he flew up to his Cloudland tree.And the Owl never told – I alone knew —So don't you tell, whatever you do.How near the world came to a disaster most shocking,Waking Christmas morning without a filled stocking!HOLLY TREE
By Paul H. Hayne("Hie on the holly tree!" – Old Ballad.)THE firelight danced and waveredIn elvish, twinkling gleeOn the leaves and crimson berriesOf the great green Christmas-Tree;And the children who gathered round itBeheld, with marvelling eyes,Pendant from trunk and branchesHow many a precious prize,From the shimmer of gold and silverThrough a purse's cunning net,To the coils of a rippling necklaceThat quivered with beads of jet!But chiefly they gazed in wonderWhere flickered strangely throughThe topmost leaves of the holly,The sheen of a silken shoe!And the eldest spake to her father:"I have seen – yes, year by year,On the crown of our Christmas hollies,That small shoe glittering clear;"But you never have told who owned it,Nor why, so loftily set,It shines though the fadeless verdure —You never have told us yet!"Twas then that the museful fatherIn slow sad accents said,While the firelight hovered eerilyAbout his downcast head:"My children… you had a sister;(It was long, long, long ago,)She came like an Eden rosebud'Mid the dreariest winter snow,"And for four sweet seasons blossomedTo cheer our hearts and hearth,When the song of the Bethlehem angelsLured her away from earth —"A little before she left us,We had deftly raised to view,On the topmost branch of the holly,Yon glimmering, tiny shoe;"For again 'twas the time of Christmas,As she lay with laboring breath;But… our minds were blinded strangely,And we did not dream of death."We knew that no toy would please herLike a shoe, so fair and neat,To fold, with its soft caressing,Her delicate, sylph-like feet!"Truly, a smile like a sunbeamBrightened her eyes of blue,And once.. twice.. thrice.. she testedThe charm of her fairy shoe!"Ah! then the bright smile flickered,Faded, and drooped away,As faintly, in tones that faltered,I heard our darling say:"1 My shoe! papa, please hang itOnce more on the holly bough,Just where I am sure to see it,When I wake… an hour from now!"But alas! she never wakened!Close-shut were the eyes of blueWhose last faint gleam had fondledThe curves of that dainty shoe!"Ah, children, you understand me —Your eyes are brimmed with dew,As they watch on the Christmas hollyThe sheen of a silken shoe!"A TALE OF A COMET
By J. T. TrowbridgeWE had seen the streaming meteors' light,With their trails of fire, the autumnnight,And talked of falling sky-rocks hurledFrom some long-since exploded world;Of comets frisking among the stars.With tails like fiery trains of cars,And asked, "Should the reckless engineerOf some rakish comet steerCrashing into our atmosphere,How would the planet's shell resist him?"Then we conversed of the solar system,And lunar men;And Doctor BenBrought out his globe, at half-past ten,And lectured, giving conclusive reasonsFor tides, eclipses, climes and seasons;Till, weary at last, I went to bed,With a jumble of wonderful things in myhead —Moons and comets and meteorites,Globes and circles and polar nights;And there I lay thinking,And drowsily winkingAt something – a ray – thro' my bed-curtainsblinking;Too bright for a star, and growing still brighter,Making the moon-lighted chamber yet lighter,Which very much astonished the writer!I gazed from the casement,And wondered, with ever-increasing amazement,What the look of alarm on the Moon's frowningface meant.His nose peering out from a very close cap,His fingers in mittens, his chin in a wrap,Like a tourist prepared for a very cold snap!On, on he sped, through the regions of space,With very short legs at a very long pace,His well-filled knapsack lashed to his back,Extra shoes and canteen strapped under his pack,His coat-tails flying away on his track —Entangled far off in the Pleiades,On the horns of the Bull and Orion's knees.For there was the Moon, and, strange to say,There too was the Earth, just over the way,Like the Doctor's globe, or a huge balloon,Forty times larger, perhaps, than the Moon,All covered with circles, and looming in space:There were groups upon it, and every faceWas turned one way; and very long-jointedTelescopes at the sky were pointed; —And there, with a terrible rushing and hummingAnd hissing of breath, was a Comet a-coming!So long and so queer, and as it came nearerIt grew every moment longer and queerer!Until I made out such a comical chap,In a red-flannel coat with a very long flap,On, on he came,With nose like a flame,So red I was sure the fellow'd been drinking(His canteen was empty, I knew by the clinking)"And what can a sober Comet be thinking,"I cried "not to see there, plain as the day,The Earth, like a target, hung right in his way?"The groups were beginning to hurry about,And hustle and bustle and signal and shout,And the Moon looked scared, while I shrieked out,"Dear sir, I beg pardon, I don't know your name —I pray you'll consider, and if it's the sameTo you, here's a planet! I don't think you knew it;But, sir, it will beA great favor to meAnd a very large circle of friends, as you see,If you will drive round it instead of right thro' it!"He put up his head with a stupefied stare,And says he, "I declare!No, I wasn't aware!And I'm going at such a deuce of a rate —I'd stop if I could, but I fear it's too late!Bless my stars! here I am!" He had just timeto stoop,When through it, head-foremost, he went at aswoop,As a circus rider dives through a hoop!With a crash,And a smash,And a roar as of thunder,It quivered,And shivered,And flew asunder:The Moon, looking down, shed tragical tears;While, winking hard and holding his ears,The Comet came out on the other side,Wheeled round, swore loud, and ruefully eyedThe ruin; sneezed two or three times; then drewHis long tail after him down the blue.Heavens and earth! what have I done!This does beat everything under the sun!I don't care the wink of a star," said he,"For all the damage done to me – "(Feeling his nose, and then with a flirtCarefully brushing away the dirtFrom his coat and its stained and draggled skirt) —"But look at this dear little, queer little planet!I've done the business for her, and I van, itIs quite too bad! The fairest of creatures —How well I remember her pleasant features,The smile on her face and the light in her eye,When I've touched my hat to her, hurrying by,Many a time, on my way through the sky!I'd mend the poor thing if I could – and I'll try!"How he got it, or where,I cannot declare;But thereupon he drew up a chair.Hung his long coat-tail over the back,Sat down by the pieces and opened his pack,Brought forth from its depths a stout needle andthread,And there he sat squinting and scratching his head,As if rather doubtfully questioning whether'Twas possible ever to patch her together!Meanwhile – but how can I hope to tellHalf that to my friends befellOn the shattered and scattered shell?How depict the huge surpriseOf some, at the very astonishing riseOf their real estate, shot off in the skies?How describe the flying blocks,The fall of steeples and railroad stocks,The breaking of banks, and the stopping of clocks;And all the various knocks and shocks; —Frantic reporters rushing about,And correspondents setting outIn a big balloon, intending from itTo interview our friend, the Comet!While the wide-awake daily press unfurledIts rival bulletins: "End of the World!!Frightful collision! America hit!!!Full particulars! Canada hurledOver New England! The Union split!!!In INTERRUPTION OF TRAVEL AND TRADE!The Comet coming to our aid!"For now the Comet – odd to see!Although it didn't seem odd to me —With thimble and glue-pot, sewing and gluingThe shattered globe, was cheerfully doingAll he could to restore the ruin;Patiently replacing allThe scattered fragments, great and small;Stitching here and sticking there,With a hopeful smile and a satisfied air,Putting the planet into repair!When all was done, with a dexterous twirlOf his fingers, he set it once more a-whirl,While the Moon looked pleased as a smilinggirl.Off he sped; and the planet spunAway on its axis round the sun;When, watching with curious eyes, I foundHe hadn't made it precisely round!The zones, moreover, were strangely mixed:Constantinople was squeezed betwixtSt. Petersburg and Baltimore;South Carolina and LabradorTo Massachusetts were snugly tied;New York and Paris were side by side;And, oddest of all earthly fates,England was in the United States!Greenland (he couldn't have made a greaterMistake) was on the new equator!While in each crack of the crust some bitOf broken China was made to fit.Whereupon I cried, with a wild halloo,"Hold on! come back! this never will do!Just see what a botch you've made!" BeforeHe had time to turn, with a clang and a roar,And a glare of its one great Cyclops eye,The Lightning Express went whizzing byWith a rushing of steam,And a howl and a scream,That waked me from my curious dream;Which the Doctor avers (and he makes it plain)Must all have passed through my busy brainWith the passing of the midnight train!OH, HAPPY NIGHT!
By M. E. BO happy night! that brings the mornTo dawn above the Lord new born,And bids the angels sing againTheir message to the sons of men —We hail thee! we hail thee!O happy manger! that hath knownThis precious burden as thine own,Beyond all gifts the world doth hold,Of pomp and pow'r and gems and goldWe hail thee! we hail thee!=O happy star! whose radiance sweetDid lead the wise men's eager feetTo seek the way, unknown, untried,That led them to the manger's side —We hail thee! we hail thee!O happy day! that gave to menThe Babe Divine of Bethlehem,The King of Kings, the Undefiled,In semblance of a little child —We hail thee! we hail thee!O happy Babe! whose wondrous eyesStill hold the light of Paradise,Look down in blessing from aboveWhile Prince of Peace, and Lord of Love,We hail thee! we hail thee!WILLIE WEE
By Mrs. A. M. DiazTWO lads were conversing as happy as kings,Of the coming of Christmas and all that itbrings,Of the Christmas-tree and its many delights,Of the city shop-windows and other fine sights,When out spake wee Will, sometimes called "Williewee,"Though often "sweet William," or "little Willee,"– Four years and a half or three-quarters was he —"Say! What kind of a tree is a Chrissermus-tree?"And the while they discoursed, as his wonder grew',With questions like these he followed them through:"Does it have big branches that spread all around?Do its roots stay deep down in the dark ground?Does it grow, grow, grow, way up very high?If you climb to the top will your head bump the sky?Do any plums grow on it, or apples, or cherries?Or any good nuts, or pretty red berries?Does it bloom out all over with flowers white assnow,As that tree does down there in our garden below?Do robins and king-birds build nests in that tree?And other birdies too?" asked little Willee."Yes," answered Ned, wise, school-boy Ned:"A Christmas-tree, young curly-head,Has branches, sure, but has no roots,And on its branches grow no fruits;Yet bright red apples there you'll see,And oranges of high degree —Apples and oranges on one tree!""That sounds very strange," quoth little Willee."No flowers bloom there, snowy white,Yet with these fruits – a curious sight —Are oft seen flowers both red and white!Should you climb to the top without a fall,Your head might bump against the wall,But not against the sky, you see,For indoors-stands the Christmas-tree!""You tell very big stories," quoth little Willee."No birdie there doth build its nest,No king-bird, blue-bird, robin redbreast,Yet eggs thereon are often seen.Of beautiful colors, pink, and green,And purple, and lavender, fit for a queen.Even eggs with pictures on them are found.And with golden bands which circle around.But from all these eggs so fair to seeAre hatched no birds in that Christmas-tree;Instead, are hatched candy and gumdrops!" said he."Are you telling the truth?" asked little Willee."I've not told half, I do declare,Of all those wondrous branches bear.Bear? They bear dolls and whips and drums,Tops, whistles, taffy, sugar-plums,And candy sheep, and candy cats,And candy birds, and candy rats,And India-rubber girls and boys,Bear trumpets and all kinds of toys,Bear books, and jumping-jacks, and mittens,And little cotton-flannel kittens;And over the whole of this Christmas-treeCandles are burning right merrily!What think you of this? my sweet Willie-wee?""I think you are fooling!" said little Willee.Next morning young Willie, with serious air,Put earth in a flower-pot, and buried up thereA seed of an apple with very great care."Pray, what are you doing, you rogue Willie-wee?""I am planting a seed for a Chrissermas tree!Is not that good to do?" asked little Willee.– There came from that seed a green little shootWhich put out its leaves and firmly took root,And so finely did thrive that at last it was foundToo large for the house and was set in the ground,Where it grew up, a tree, one scarcely knew how.Look down by the wall; it is standing there now.It blossoms in springtime, and many a nestHas been built there by king-bird and robin redbreast;And other birdies too oft come to the treeAnd sing there and swing there, oh, so merrily;They make it all summer our joy and delight;And in fall of the year 'tis a beautiful sightWhen the clustering wealth of its apples is seen —Its ruby red apples all set in their green!– And Willie? Yes, he grew up, too, young Willie-wee,And went as a sailor-boy over the sea.He sailed in a ship to some far distant shore;A storm came – and – and – we saw him no more.It was long, long ago that deep sorrow we bore!The lads who were talking, as happy as kings,Of the coming of Christmas and all that it brings,Are fathers now, so stately and tall.Their children play by the garden wall,And swing on the boughs of the apple tree,Or climb to the top, the world to see;(Some have gone from the home the world to see!)And when autumn comes, and leaves turn brown,And the ripened fruits are shaken down,And here and there, on the orchard ground,The red and the golden are heaped around —'Tis the children who gather that tree by the wall,And the apples from off its boughs that fall,With kindly care are stored away,Sure to appear on Christmas DayIn platter or basket for all to admire,Or hung on strings before the fire,There to swing and sputter and roast,While many an one of the merry hostGives a tender thought to that first Willie-weeWho went as a sailor-boy over the sea.The youngest of all; a new Willie-wee,– A curly-haired rogue, and our darling is he! —Now claims for his own uncle Will's Christmas-tree."Because," says the child, "he was named for me!"ON CHRIST-DAY NIGHT
By Nora PerryFrom room to room, from stair to stair;All silken-clad; while standing thereShut from the summer warmth and cheer,The silken perfumed atmosphereOf wealth and ease, a little maidWith beating heart, yet unafraid,Enchanted, watched the fairy sceneBetween the curtains' parted screen.The fierce north wind came sweeping pa: tAnd shook her with its wintry blast;The frosty pavement of the streetChilled to the bone her ill-clad feet;Yet moment after moment fledAnd there she stood, with lifted head,Her eager eyes, as in a trance,Fixed on the changes of the dance,DULCET SOUNDS
STATELY mansion,bright and gayWith festal light, madedarkness dayFar up and down the duskystreetThat Christmas night, while hurry-ing feetSped swiftly by, nor scarce de-layedFor all the dulcet sounds thatstrayedIn merry measures from within,Where harp and flute and violin,In soft accordance, wild and sweet,Made music for the dancers' feet.All silken-clad those feet that keptThat time and tune, or lightly steptHer eager ears still drinking inThe strains of flute and violin;And still, as sped the moments past,Colder and colder swept the blast.But little heed had she, or care:Her glance upon one vision fair,One vision, one, beyond the rest —A girl with roses on her breast,And with a look upon her face,The sweet girl-face of Heaven's own grace,As through the dance she smiling ledHer youthful guests, with airy tread."Ah, would she smile on me like thisAnd would she give me kiss for kissIf I could stand there at her side?"The wistful watcher softly cried.Even as she spoke she closer crept,Upon the broad low terrace stept,And nearer leaned. – Just then, just there,A street light sent a sudden glareAcross her face. – One startled glance,And from the changes of the dance.With beating heart and eyes dilate.The girlish mistress of the fêteSprang swiftly forth. – A moment moreAnd through the window's opened doorAnother guest was ushered in.Her lip was pale, her cheek was thin,No costly robe of silk and laceApparelled her, and 011 her faceAnd in her dark bewildered eyesA shock of fear and shamed surpriseDid wildly, desperately gleam,While here and there, as in a dream,She vaguely heard, yet did not hear,The sound of voices far and near.She tried to speak: some word she saidOf all her troubled doubt and dread,Some childish word – "what would theydo?"Then all at once a voice rang throughHer troubled doubt, her troubled fear,"What will they do, why, this – and this!"And on her cold lips dropped a kiss,And found her frozen figure creptA tender clasp. – She laughed and weptAnd laughed again, for this and this,This tender clasp, this tender kiss,Wras more than all her dream come true:Was earth with Heaven's light shining through;Was Christ's own promise kept aright —His word fulfilled on Christ-day night!