=The Christmas Stocking.=

In the ghostly light I'm sitting, musing of long dead Decembers, While the fire-clad shapes are flitting in and out among the embers On my hearthstone in mad races, and I marvel, for in seeming I can dimly see the faces and the scenes of which I'm dreaming.

O golden Christmas days of yore!

In sweet antic.i.p.ation I lived their joys for days before Their glorious realization; And on the dawn Of Christmas morn My childish heart was knocking A wild tattoo, As 'twould break through, As I unhung my stocking.

Each simple gift that came to hand, How marvelous I thought it!

A treasure straight from wonderland, For Santa Claus had brought it.

And at my cries Of glad surprise The others all came flocking To share my glee And view with me The contents of the stocking

Years sped--I left each well-loved scene In Northern wilds to roam, And there, 'mid tossing pine-trees green, I made myself a home.

We numbered three And blithe were we, At adverse fortune mocking, And Christmas-tide By our fireside Found hung the baby's stocking.

Alas! within our home to-night No sweet young voice is ringing, And through its silent rooms no light.

Free, childish step is springing.

The wild winds rave O'er baby's grave Where plumy pines are rocking And crossed at rest On marble breast The hands that filled my stocking

With misty eyes but steady hand I raise my Christmas chalice; Here's to the children of the land In cabin or in palace; May each one hold The key of gold, The gates of glee unlocking, And hands be found The whole world round To fill the Christmas stocking

_Clarence H. Pearson in The Ladies' Home Journal_.

=Christmas Hymn.=

(During this recitation let the piano be played very softly in running chords that resolve into the key of a Christmas carol which is taken up and sung by the entire school at the end of the poem.)

Sing, Christmas bells!

Say to the earth this is the morn Whereon our Saviour King is born; Sing to all men-the bond, the free, The rich, the poor, the high, the low, The little child that sports in glee, The aged folk that tottering go,-- Proclaim the morn That Christ is born, That saveth them and saveth me!

Sing angel host!

Sing of the stars that G.o.d has placed Above the manger in the east.

Sing of the glories of the night, The Virgin's sweet humility, The Babe with kingly robes bedight,-- Sing to all men where'er they be This Christmas morn For Christ is born, That saveth them and saveth me!

--_Eugene Field_.

=Bells Across the Snow.=

(This poem may be recited by one pupil, or divided as follows:)

_First pupil_: Christmas, merry Christmas!

Is it really come again?

With its memories and greetings, With its joys and with its pain There's a minor in the carol, And a shadow in the light, And a spray of cypress twining With the holly wreath to-night.

And the hush is never broken By laughter, light and low, As we listen in the starlight To the "bells across the snow."

_Second pupil_: Christmas, merry Christmas!

'Tis not so very long Since other voices blended With the carol and the song!

If we could but hear them singing As they are singing now, If we could but see the radiance Of the crown on each dear brow; There would be no sigh to smother, No hidden tear to flow, As we listen in the starlight To the "bells across the snow."

_Third pupil:_ O Christmas, merry Christmas!

This never more can be; We cannot bring again the days Of our unshadowed glee.

But Christmas, happy Christmas, Sweet herald of good will, With holy songs of glory, Brings holy gladness still.

For peace and hope may brighten, And patient love may glow, As we listen in the starlight To the "bells across the snow."

--_F.R. Havergal_.

=Christmas Eve.=

Outside my window whirls the icy storm, And beats upon its panes with fingers white; Within, my open fire burns bright and warm, And sends throughout the room its ruddy light.

Low on the hearth my good grimalkin lies, His supple, glossy limbs outstretched along; Now gently sleeps with softly closed eyes, Now, half awakened, purrs his even-song.

Near to the fire, touched by its gentle heat, A silent, welcome friend, my armchair stands.

Its cushioned depths invite me to its seat, And promise rest for weary head and hands.

Within its depths mine eyes unheeded close, And comes to me a vision wondrous sweet.

Such sights and sounds no wakeful hours disclose As then my resting, dreaming senses greet.

I am where gentle shepherds on the plain Keep sleepless, faithful watch o'er resting sheep; I hear them chant the Psalmist's sweet refrain, That Israel's G.o.d will sure his promise keep.

Then quick the air is full of heav'nly song, And radiant light illumines all the ground, While angel voices sweet the strain prolong, And angel faces shine in glory round.

I see the shepherds' faces pale with fear, Then glow with joy and glad surprise, for then "Glory to G.o.d!" from angel lips they hear, And "Peace on earth good will to men."

And then the light marks out a shining way, And swift the shepherds are the path to take.

I long to go! O laggard feet, why stay?

Alas! the vision fades, and I awake.

Within, the smold'ring fire is burning dim; Without, the whirl and beat of storm have ceased.

I still can hear the angels' peaceful hymn, And know the vision hath my peace increased.

_--Frank E. Broun in The Outlook_.

=The Little Christmas Tree.=

The Christmas day was coming, the Christmas eve drew near, The fir-trees they were talking low at midnight cold and clear And this is what the fir-trees said, all in the pale moonlight, "Now which of us shall chosen be to grace the holy night?"

The tall trees and the goodly trees raised each a lofty head.