Poems (Curwen)/Christmas Eve
For works with similar titles, see Christmas Eve.
Christmas Eve.
What multifarious threads we weave
In the web of Thought on Christmas Eve.
What bright-hued fancies intertwine
With sober memories of "Lang Syne."
O'er all the earth, both on land and sea,
There falls a hush of expectancy;
Almost we look for the shining wings
Of the Angel host that yearly brings
Tidings of joy to the listening earth—
Glad tidings of the Redeemer's birth.
The bustling world for a space is still,
As it lists to the message of goodwill;
And hearts grow softer, as hearts should grow,
And melt with pity, as melts the snow,
For Christmas Eve is the good time when
The leaven of goodwill levels all men:
For the hosts angelic with mankind leave
Peace and goodwill on Christmas Eve.
The young rejoice, as they gaily weave
Garlands of holly on Christmas Eve;
And many a dart from Cupid's bow
Is aimed from under the mistletoe;
And bright eyes sparkle with joy and pleasure,
While red lips trill the Yuletide measure,
And light feet trip to the rhythmic flow
Of music we danced to years ago.
And who would grudge them? Not I, forsooth,
For all too soon fly the days of youth:
And all too soon come the years that leave
The bitter-sweets of our Christmas Eve.
But the young who have their dreams to dream,
Who have yet to build and plan and scheme,
Who have ail to win, and naught to grieve,
There's no such a time as Christmas Eve.
In the children's realm there's joy because
That wonderful being, old Santa Claus,
In his reindeer sleigh is on his tour,
Visiting the homes of the rich and the poor;
And rows of stockings, of every size,
Are hung where they will meet his eyes:
For Santa comes laden with beautiful toys
For all the good little girls and beys.
O, the careful hanging of these, lest he
Should fail one little stocking to see.
What anxious fears in each tiny breast;
What longings for this or that confessed
To mother or nurse, when prayers are said,
And stockings are duly hung by the bed.
What joy of anticipation is their's
As dream-fairies bear them unawares
To Slumberland, while the reindeer sleigh
Deposits its gifts and drives away.
In the world of sorrow sad hearts will grieve
O'er absent friends this Christmas Eve;
Husbands and wives who mourn their dead;
Mothers who weep by some empty bed,
Where Santa Claus was wont to lay
His offerings on many a by-gone day;
Empty cradles, too, sadly attest
How the Spoiler has rifled the nest
Of the infant cherub, who was the pride
Of the mother who weeps by the cradle side.
Fathers, too, sigh o'er the broken toys
Of the lost darlings who formed their joys—
Child angels who dwell in a fairer clime,
Where it is always glad Christmas-time.
May all sad hearts from heaven receive
Its blessing of peace this Christmas Eve;
And the Christmas Bells, as they peal once more,
Ring Peace and Goodwill the wide world o'er.
In the web of Thought on Christmas Eve.
What bright-hued fancies intertwine
With sober memories of "Lang Syne."
O'er all the earth, both on land and sea,
There falls a hush of expectancy;
Almost we look for the shining wings
Of the Angel host that yearly brings
Tidings of joy to the listening earth—
Glad tidings of the Redeemer's birth.
The bustling world for a space is still,
As it lists to the message of goodwill;
And hearts grow softer, as hearts should grow,
And melt with pity, as melts the snow,
For Christmas Eve is the good time when
The leaven of goodwill levels all men:
For the hosts angelic with mankind leave
Peace and goodwill on Christmas Eve.
The young rejoice, as they gaily weave
Garlands of holly on Christmas Eve;
And many a dart from Cupid's bow
Is aimed from under the mistletoe;
And bright eyes sparkle with joy and pleasure,
While red lips trill the Yuletide measure,
And light feet trip to the rhythmic flow
Of music we danced to years ago.
And who would grudge them? Not I, forsooth,
For all too soon fly the days of youth:
And all too soon come the years that leave
The bitter-sweets of our Christmas Eve.
But the young who have their dreams to dream,
Who have yet to build and plan and scheme,
Who have ail to win, and naught to grieve,
There's no such a time as Christmas Eve.
In the children's realm there's joy because
That wonderful being, old Santa Claus,
In his reindeer sleigh is on his tour,
Visiting the homes of the rich and the poor;
And rows of stockings, of every size,
Are hung where they will meet his eyes:
For Santa comes laden with beautiful toys
For all the good little girls and beys.
O, the careful hanging of these, lest he
Should fail one little stocking to see.
What anxious fears in each tiny breast;
What longings for this or that confessed
To mother or nurse, when prayers are said,
And stockings are duly hung by the bed.
What joy of anticipation is their's
As dream-fairies bear them unawares
To Slumberland, while the reindeer sleigh
Deposits its gifts and drives away.
In the world of sorrow sad hearts will grieve
O'er absent friends this Christmas Eve;
Husbands and wives who mourn their dead;
Mothers who weep by some empty bed,
Where Santa Claus was wont to lay
His offerings on many a by-gone day;
Empty cradles, too, sadly attest
How the Spoiler has rifled the nest
Of the infant cherub, who was the pride
Of the mother who weeps by the cradle side.
Fathers, too, sigh o'er the broken toys
Of the lost darlings who formed their joys—
Child angels who dwell in a fairer clime,
Where it is always glad Christmas-time.
May all sad hearts from heaven receive
Its blessing of peace this Christmas Eve;
And the Christmas Bells, as they peal once more,
Ring Peace and Goodwill the wide world o'er.