Children of Christmas, and Others

A Christmas Spy

When Poebe brought the wood and coal; To lay the fire, what did she see But Baby--dropped upon one knee And peering up the chimney-hole!

She never turned her little head, With all its curly, yellow hair: I asked, "What are you doing there?" "Me look for Santa Taus!" she said.

Refreshments for Santa Claus

"It may be late and stormy and cold When Santa Claus reaches our street; And Santa, you know, is very old, So I'll leave him something to eat."

"And what do you think he would like, dear heart," "Something nice and sweet," she said; "Jelly and jam, and a cranberry tart, And a teenty piece of bread!"

So there on the sideboard is Santa's feast, Which her own small hands have spread; Jelly and jam,--three kinds at least, And a tart--but where is the bread?"

HOW THE CHRISTMAS TREE WAS BROUGHT TO NOME

Night of the winter--winter and night in the city of Nome, There where the many are dwelling, but no man yet has a home! Desolate league upon league, ice-pack and tundra and hill; And the dark of the year when the gold-hunter's rocker and dredge are still!

By the fire that is no man's hearth,--by the fire more precious than gold,-- They are passing the time as they may, encompassed by storm and by cold: And their talk is of pay-streak and bedrock, of claim by seashore or creek, Of the brigantine fast in the ice-pack this many and many a week; Wraiths of the mist and the snow encumber her canvas and deck,-- And the Eskimos swear that a crew out of ghostland are crowding the wreck!

Thus, in the indolent dark of the year, in the city of Nome, They were passing the time as they might, but ever their thoughts turned home. Said the Man from the East, "In God's country now (where we'd all like to be), You may bet your life there's a big boom on for the Christmas Tree; And we'd have one here, but there isn't a shrub as high as my hand, Nor the smell of spruce, for a hundred miles, in all this land!"

Then the Man from the South arose: "I allow, if the Tree could be found, I'd 'tend to the fruit myself, and stand ye a treat all round!" "Done!" said the Man from the West (the youngest of all was he). "I'll lose my claim in the ruby sand--or I'll find the Tree!"

The restless Aurora is waving her banners wide through the dome, And the Man from the West is off, while yet they are sleeping in Nome! Off, ere the low-browed dawn, with Eskimo, sledge, and team: He is leaving the tundra behind, he is climbing the source of the stream! On, beyond Sinrock--on, while the miles and the dim hours glide-- On, toward the evergreen belt that darkens the mountain side! 'Tis a hundred miles or more; but his team is strong, is swift, And brief are his slumbers at night, in the lee of the feathery drift!

There were watchful eyes, there were anxious hearts in the city of Nome; And they cheered with a will when the Man from the West with his prize came home! And they cheered again for the Christmas Tree that was brought from far, Chained to his sledge, like a king of old to the conqueror's car!

Said the Man from the South, "I'll 'tend to the fruit that grows on the Tree!" Said the Man from the East, "Leave the Christmas dinner and trimmings to me!"

Holly and Mistletoe

Said the Holly to the Mistletoe: "Of this holy-tide what canst know,-- Thou a pagan--thou Of the leafless bough? My leaves are green, my scarlet berries shine At thought of things divine!"

To the Holly spake the Mistletoe: "Matters not, my leafless boughs but show Berries pale as pearl-- Ask yon boy and girl! If human mirth and love be not some sign Of share in things divine!"

THE FIREBRAND (Northern Ohio, Christmas Eve, 1804)

Hark to a story of Christmas Eve In the lonely days of yore: 'Tis of the measureless, savage woods By the great lake's windy shore-- Of mother and child, in a firelit span, Where the wilderness bows to the toil of man!

"Christmas is coming, and father'll be here; Through the woods he is coming, I know! Over his shoulder his ax is laid, And his beard is white with snow! Yes, but look in the fire, my child, At the strange cities there, so bright and so wild!"

"Mother, what are those restless flames That close by the window pass?" "Only the firelight fairies, child, That dance on the window-glass! But look, how the sparks up the chimney fly, Up, and away, to the snowy sky!"

"Oh, listen, what are those shuddering cries,-- Mother, what can they be?" "Only the branches that grate on the roof, When the wind bends down the tree! Now sing me the song I've taught to you, That I, myself, as a little child knew!"

"But, mother, those flames dart back and forth-- Like balls of fire they play! And those shuddering cries are at the door; '_You must let us in_,' they say!"-- "My child! Your father's whistle I hear-- Say a prayer for him--he is coming near!"

She has seized the tongs, she has snatched a brand, And waved it abroad at the door! Through the drifting snow a form she sees-- He is safe, in a moment more; Safe--and afar are those shuddering cries, And the baleful lights of the wolves' red eyes!

Thus did it chance on a Christmas Eve, In the days that are long since fled; But a light so brave, and a gleam so true, Through the waste of the years is shed, As I think of that blazing, windblown brand, Waved at the door by a slim, white hand!

I

The good man sat before the fire, And oftentimes he sighed; The good wife softly wept the while Her evening work she plied: One year ago this happy time The little Marie died!

Ii

"And surely, now, if she had lived, She would have reached my knee!" "And surely, now, if she had lived, How cunning would she be!" In fancy each a darling face Beside their hearth could see.

Iii

The door swung wide--a gust of wind The fitful candle blew; 'Twas Franz, the awkward stable-boy, His clattering step they knew. "But Franz, speak up, speak up, and tell What thing has chanced to you!"

Iv

His round blue eyes with wonder shone, His bashful fears had fled: "I saw--I saw the cattle kneel Upon their strawy bed; And in a manger lay the Child-- A light shone round His head!"

V

"He must have dreamed," the good man said, "A vision, it would seem." "Nay, master, for the light shone bright On stall and loft and beam." Then said the good wife, "I, perhaps, Might go and dream this dream!"

Vi

No further words, but forth she fared, With Franz to lead the way. They reached the barn, whose sagging door Shot out a yellow ray; The kine did kneel upon the straw, As truthful Franz did say!

Vii

And there--oh, lovely, lovely sight, Oh, pleading, tender sight! Within a manger, lapped in hay, A smiling, rosy mite The good wife saw, and nearer held The lantern's yellow light.

Viii

She took the foundling in her arms, And on its sleeping face Her tears and kisses fell in one: "How great is Heaven's grace! It is the Christ-Child's gift to me, To ease the aching place!"

Long, long ago, in dear Provence, we three! Three children, ruddy with the midi sun (And blither none the all-seeing sun might see), How happy when the harvest-time was done, The last slow drop from out the winepress run; And when the frost at morn was thick like snow; And when Clotilde at evening sang and spun, And old folk, by the new fire's ruddy glow, Would tell, as I do now, the tales of long ago!