Classic Poem

The Christmas morn was breaking; and startled from my sleep
By merry chimes in chorus and joy-bells loud and deep,
I breathed a hurried matin, and, turning round my head,
The brightest forms and faces came dancing to my bed.

I looked up quite bewildered, and puzzled much to say.
If on the earth, or fairies had stolen me away;
For beaming black eyes dazzled, and laughing blue eyes shone,
And with the radiant vision mine eyes had blinded grown.

And O the flaxen ringlets and curls of sunny brown.
That over dimpled faces and shoulders rippled down;
And O the silvery voices that rang through house and hall —
" A merry, merry Christmas! A merry Christmas all! "

But even more I marveled — for mingling in the shout
Were words of foreign meaning I could not well make out, —
" St. Nicholas , " " Kris Kringle , " and " Santa Claus , " I heard,
With " Pelschnicol , " " Knecht Rupert , " and many another word.

Among the merry dancers was happy little Nell,
And all her darling playmates from near and far as well,
In floating white, with sashes of blue and pink and red,
And full of fun and frolic was every little head.

And little people, oddest of any ever seen,
Tripped merrily in quaintest of costumes gray and green,
The skirts of some were trailing, and some cut at the knee,
And on their feet were sandals and buskins queer to see.

One wore a gown of linsey, a 'kerchief round her neck,
And wooden shoes, and close-set cap, and apron made of check;
And beckoning unto me the modest little miss,
I said, " Meine Fraulein , tell me who your Kris Kringle is! "

Then modestly the maiden told in her simple phrase,
Of dear Kris Kringle going through broad and narrow ways,
To burgher and to cotter as to the mighty king,
And leaving all good children some pretty, dainty thing:

How on the Christmas even he hangs the lighted tree,
With toys, and brightest ribbons, and flowers fair to see;
And how when Kinder gather with glad and smiling eyes,
Knecht Rupert showers candies and laughs at their surprise.

Then came a dimpled darling in linen bib and hose,
And cheeks and lip, I'm certain, as red as any rose;
Then I: " O merry maiden of merry England, say
What do ye in your country on merry Christmas day? "

" We gather in the holly with scarlet berries bright,
We hang the sacred mistletoe and dance by the Yule-fire light;
We pass the steaming wassail with ribbons round the bowl,
While merry Christmas carols from hall to cottage roll.

" And with the bright-leaved holly we gather in good-will,
And with the sacred mistletoe we banish every ill,
And in the smoking wassail drown enmity and strife,
And in the tender carol call blessings on our life.

" And then the mighty pudding stuffed full of juicy plums,
And rare mince pie and cider, and rusk and white-bread crumbs,
And far into the midnight the feasting and the games, —
The only night when wee folk have any sort of claims. "

A lad in kilt and plaidie came bravely up and talked
About the masqueraders that in his country stalked,
Disguised in strangest costumes, with horns and pipes and wigs,
And danced the reel and hornpipe and lilting Highland jigs.

A youth from France the sunny came singing Notre Dame,
How people wreathe the altars with garlands, and the balm
Of charities and flowers and words of kindly cheer
Become sweet consecration for each new Christmas year.

" What word, O brown Italian? " With dark and flashing eye,
And floating robe of crimson he softly glided by,
And many glowing pictures of good St. Nicholas drew,
Who comes each year to Florence, and Rome, and Venice too;

And brings good gifts and gladness to humble hearth and home,
And rings the merry revels from lofty minster-dome,
And fills the streets with people, their hearts with holy fire,
And sings the grand old anthems in proud St. Peter's choir.

And from remotest countries and further ocean isles,
Wherever Christ is worshipped, they came with songs and smiles;
In robes of fur from Russia, in silk from far Siam,
The Laplander in muffler, the Hindoo with his fan.

And in one mighty chorus they sang a holy hymn,
About the Christ-Child dwelling in far-off Bethlehem,
Till in a cloud of glory I saw them float away,
Like stars that softly vanish with the coming of the day.

But still the anthem lingered through all the Christmas morn,
The song I think the angels sung when Christ the Lord was born;
When, bending o'er the manger, the prophets hailed their King,
And in the lap of Mary poured precious offering.

Now God be thanked, who gave us this day of all the days,
When hand in hand the nations extol His matchless ways!
Ring out, glad bells, the story, the gladdest of the year!
Sing out, glad souls, your carols, till earth and heaven hear!