Inasmuch
A CHRISTMAS STORY .
You say that you want a Meetin'-house for the boys in the gulch up there,
And a Sunday-school with pictur'-books? Well, put me down for a share.
I believe in little children; it's as nice to hear 'em read
As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed.
And I believe in preachin' too — by men for preachin' born,
Who let alone the husks of creed and measure out the corn.
The pulpit's but a manger where the pews are Gospel-fed;
And they say 'twas to a manger that the Star of Glory led.
So I'll subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls;
I always give the best I've got whenever my partner calls.
And, stranger, let me tell you: I'm beginning to suspect
That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect;
That life is a kind of pilgrimage — a sort of Jericho road,
And kindness to one's fellows the sweetest law in the code.
No matter about the 'nitials — from a farmer, you understand,
Who's generally had to play it alone from rather an ornary hand.
I've never struck it rich, for farming, you see, is slow;
And whenever the crops are fairly good the prices are always low.
A dollar isn't very much, but it helps to count the same;
The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes wins the game.
It assists a fellow's praying when he's down upon his knees —
" Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these. "
I know the verses, stranger, so you needn't stop to quote;
It's a different thing to know them or to say them off by rote.
I'll tell you where I learned them, if you'll step in from the rain:
'Twas down in 'Frisco, years ago — had been there hauling grain;
It was just across the ferry, on the Sacramento pike,
Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shanties scatterin' like —
Not the likeliest place to be in. I remember the saloon,
With grocery, market, baker-shop, and bar-room all in one.
And this made up the picture — my hair was not then gray,
But everything still seems as real as if 'twere yesterday.
A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter there —
Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn with grief and care;
And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of chronic cold —
Just the tone you find in children who are prematurely old.
She said: " Two bits for bread and tea, ma hasn't much to eat;
She hopes next week to work again, and buy us all some meat.
We've been half-starved all winter, but spring will soon be here,
And she tells us, " Keep up courage, for God is always near." "
Just then a dozen men came in; the boy was called away
To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty-niners say.
I never heard from human lips such oaths and curses loud
As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless crowd.
But the poor tired girl sat waiting, lost at last to revels deep,
On a keg beside a barrel in the corner, fast asleep.
Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one at the bar
Said, " Hello! I say, stranger, what have you over that? "
The boy then told her story; and that crew, so fierce and wild,
Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing of the child.
The glasses all were lowered. Said the leader: " Boys, see here;
All day we've been pouring whiskey, drinking deep our Christmas cheer.
Here's two dollars. I've got feelings, which are not entirely dead,
For this little girl and mother suffering for the want of bread. "
" Here's a dollar. " " Here's another; " and they all chipped in their share,
And they planked the ringing metal down upon the counter there.
Then the spokesman took a golden double-eagle from his belt,
Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the sleeper knelt;
Took the " two bits " from her fingers, changed her silver piece for gold.
" See there, boys, the girl is dreaming. " Down her cheeks the teardrops rolled.
One by one the swarthy miners passed in silence to the street.
Gently we awoke the sleeper, but she started to her feet.
With a dazed and strange expression, saying: " Oh, I thought 'twas true!
Ma was well, and we were happy; round our door-stone roses grew.
We had everything we wanted, food enough, and clothes to wear;
And my hand burns where an angel touched it soft with fingers fair. "
As she looked and saw the money in her fingers glistening bright —
" Well, now, ma has long been praying, but she won't believe me quite,
How you've sent 'way up to heaven, where the golden treasures are,
And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery bar. "
That's a Christmas story, stranger, which I thought you'd like to hear;
True to fact and human nature, pointing out one's duty clear.
Hence, to matters of subscription you will see that I'm alive —
Just mark off that dollar, stranger; I think I'll make it five.
You say that you want a Meetin'-house for the boys in the gulch up there,
And a Sunday-school with pictur'-books? Well, put me down for a share.
I believe in little children; it's as nice to hear 'em read
As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed.
And I believe in preachin' too — by men for preachin' born,
Who let alone the husks of creed and measure out the corn.
The pulpit's but a manger where the pews are Gospel-fed;
And they say 'twas to a manger that the Star of Glory led.
So I'll subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls;
I always give the best I've got whenever my partner calls.
And, stranger, let me tell you: I'm beginning to suspect
That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect;
That life is a kind of pilgrimage — a sort of Jericho road,
And kindness to one's fellows the sweetest law in the code.
No matter about the 'nitials — from a farmer, you understand,
Who's generally had to play it alone from rather an ornary hand.
I've never struck it rich, for farming, you see, is slow;
And whenever the crops are fairly good the prices are always low.
A dollar isn't very much, but it helps to count the same;
The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes wins the game.
It assists a fellow's praying when he's down upon his knees —
" Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these. "
I know the verses, stranger, so you needn't stop to quote;
It's a different thing to know them or to say them off by rote.
I'll tell you where I learned them, if you'll step in from the rain:
'Twas down in 'Frisco, years ago — had been there hauling grain;
It was just across the ferry, on the Sacramento pike,
Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shanties scatterin' like —
Not the likeliest place to be in. I remember the saloon,
With grocery, market, baker-shop, and bar-room all in one.
And this made up the picture — my hair was not then gray,
But everything still seems as real as if 'twere yesterday.
A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter there —
Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn with grief and care;
And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of chronic cold —
Just the tone you find in children who are prematurely old.
She said: " Two bits for bread and tea, ma hasn't much to eat;
She hopes next week to work again, and buy us all some meat.
We've been half-starved all winter, but spring will soon be here,
And she tells us, " Keep up courage, for God is always near." "
Just then a dozen men came in; the boy was called away
To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty-niners say.
I never heard from human lips such oaths and curses loud
As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless crowd.
But the poor tired girl sat waiting, lost at last to revels deep,
On a keg beside a barrel in the corner, fast asleep.
Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one at the bar
Said, " Hello! I say, stranger, what have you over that? "
The boy then told her story; and that crew, so fierce and wild,
Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing of the child.
The glasses all were lowered. Said the leader: " Boys, see here;
All day we've been pouring whiskey, drinking deep our Christmas cheer.
Here's two dollars. I've got feelings, which are not entirely dead,
For this little girl and mother suffering for the want of bread. "
" Here's a dollar. " " Here's another; " and they all chipped in their share,
And they planked the ringing metal down upon the counter there.
Then the spokesman took a golden double-eagle from his belt,
Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the sleeper knelt;
Took the " two bits " from her fingers, changed her silver piece for gold.
" See there, boys, the girl is dreaming. " Down her cheeks the teardrops rolled.
One by one the swarthy miners passed in silence to the street.
Gently we awoke the sleeper, but she started to her feet.
With a dazed and strange expression, saying: " Oh, I thought 'twas true!
Ma was well, and we were happy; round our door-stone roses grew.
We had everything we wanted, food enough, and clothes to wear;
And my hand burns where an angel touched it soft with fingers fair. "
As she looked and saw the money in her fingers glistening bright —
" Well, now, ma has long been praying, but she won't believe me quite,
How you've sent 'way up to heaven, where the golden treasures are,
And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery bar. "
That's a Christmas story, stranger, which I thought you'd like to hear;
True to fact and human nature, pointing out one's duty clear.
Hence, to matters of subscription you will see that I'm alive —
Just mark off that dollar, stranger; I think I'll make it five.
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