Poems (Cook)/Here's Christmas

by Eliza Cook

HERE'S CHRISTMAS.

Here's "Christmas"—let us boldly greet him,
We may as well, for none can cheat him;
He will steal on, and slily sprinkle
The first grey hair and first faint wrinkle.
And yet methinks it little matters
What seed of Ruin-moss he scatters,
So that amid it we contrive
To keep Truth's Heartsease still alive
              Within our breast.

Here's Christmas, and it seemeth well
That Conscience to our deeds should tell
The just result of all we've done,
And trace the way our sands have run.
Let us peruse the closely-seal'd;
The volume ever unreveal'd;
And see if we have said or thought
No evil thing that shall have brought
              Blots on our crest.

The heart is but a ledger-sheet
Where Right and Wrong in balance meet;
And well it is that we should see
Full often how "accounts" may be.
Old Christmas has a trick we find
Of bringing bills of every kind,
So, ere we drain the festive cup,
We'll look within and reckon up
              The debts we owe.

Too many of us get so wrapt
In "own dear self," that we are apt
To dwell much more on what our brothers
Should give to us than we to others.
Our grasp is quick to seize and hold
The kindness paid in moral gold,
But Equity, that bids us pass
The same again, oft sees, alas!
              Our palms more slow.

Let us not idly shirk the task,
But face ourselves, and boldly ask
Our conduct whether it has trod
The path of Mammon or of God?
A more important "day-book" lives
Than that which worldly commerce gives,
Some brighter figures must be found
Than those which make the golden round
              Of Profit's dial.

Let us take heed that no arrears
Are due to those whose silent tears
Are calling on us night and day
For debts which mercy ought to pay;
Let us be sure that we have heard
The claims of Misery's lowly word,
And that our lips have never driven
The helpless and the spirit-riven
              With harsh denial.

Let us think how "accounts" may stand
When the "recording angel's" hand
Adds up our columns—turning then
To the "great book" not kept by men.
No yellow dust will serve to hide.
The errors made by selfish pride:
False items, though on vellum page,
Will never bear the searching gauge
              Of holy sight.

So take good caution how we let
Delusion lead us into debt;
And let Old Christmas find us willing
To pay Humanity's last shilling.
We'll pile the log and drain the cup,
But not before we reckon up
The "balance-sheet" that Conscience draws,
And God e'er keeps by his own laws
              Of Wrong and Right.