The Little Christmas Tree

The Little Christmas Tree

by Susan Coolidge

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 moon-

light,

"Now which of us shall chosen be to grace the holy

night?

The tall trees and the goodly trees raised each a lofty 

head.

In glad and secret confidence, though not a word they 

said

But one, the baby of the band, could not restrain a sigh--

"You all will be approved," he said, "but oh! what

chance have I?"

Then axe on shoulder, to the grove a woodman took his

way.

One baby-girl he had at home, and he went forth to find

A little tree as small as she, just suited to his mind.

Oh, glad and proud the baby-fir, amid its brethren tall,

To be thus chosen and singled out, the first among them

all !

He stretched his fragrant branches, his little heart beat

fast,

He was a real Christmas tree ; he had his wish at last.

One large and shining apple with cheeks of ruddy gold,

Six tapers, and a tiny doll were all that he could hold.

" I am so small, so very small, no one will mark or know

How thick and green my needles are, how true my

branches grow ;

Few toys and candles could I hold, but heart and will

are free,

And in my heart of hearts I know I am a Christmas

tree."

The Christmas angel hovered near; he caught the

grieving word,

And, laughing low, he hurried forth, with love and pity

stirred.

He sought and found St Nicholas, the dear old Christ-

mas saint,

And in his fatherly kind ear rehearsed the fir-tree's

plaint.

Saints are all-powerful, we know, so it befell that day,

The baby laughed, the baby crowed, to see the tapers

bright;

The forest baby felt the joy, and shared in the delight.

And when at last the tapers died, and when the baby

slept,

The little fir in silent night a patient vigil kept;

Though scorched and brown its needles were, it had no

heart to grieve.

"I have not lived in vain," he said ; "thank God for

Christmas eve!"

The Russian Santa Claus

The Russian Santa Claus.

By Lizzie M. Hadley.

Over the Russian snows one day,

Upon the eve of a Christmas day,

While still in the heavens shone afar,

Like a spark of fire, that wondrous star,

Three kings with jewels and gold bedight

Came journeying on through the wintry night.

Out of the East they rode amain,

With servants and camels in their train.

Laden with spices, myrrh, and gold,

Gems and jewels of worth untold,

Presents such as to-day men bring,

To lay at the feet of some Eastern king.

Wrinkled and feeble, old and gray,

Dame Babousca, that Christmas day,

Looked from her hut beside the moor,

Where the four roads crossed by her cottage door,

And saw the kings on their camels white,

A shadowy train in the wintry night.

They knocked at her cabin door to tell

That wonderful story we know so well,

Of the star that was guiding them all the way

To the place where the little Christ-Child lay,

And they begged that she, through the sleet and snow,

To the nearest village with them would go.

But naught cared she for that unknown Child,

And winds about her blew fierce and wild,

For the night was stormy, dark, and cold,

And poor Babousca was weak and old,

And in place of the pitiless winter's night,

Her lowly hut seemed a palace bright.

So to their pleadings she answered " Nay,"

And watched them all as they rode away

But when they had gone and the night was still,

Her hut seemed lonely, and dark, and chill,

And she almost wished she had followed them

In search of the Babe of Bethlehem.

And then as the longing stronger grew,

She said, "I will find Him," but no one knew,

Where was the cradle in which He lay

When He came to earth upon Christmas day,

For the kings and their trains were long since gone,

And none could tell of the Babe, new born.

Then filling a basket with toys, she said,

As over the wintry moor she sped,

"I will go to the busy haunts of men,

There I shall find the kings, and then,

Together we'll go that Child to meet,

And jewels and toys we'll lay at His feet.

The kings with their trains have long been clay,

The hut on the moor has mouldered away,

But old and feeble, worn and gray,

Every year upon Christmas day,

It matters not though the winds blow chill,

Old Babousca is seeking still.

And every year when the joy-bells chime,

To tell of the blessed Christmas time,

When in Holland they tell to the girls and boys,

Of good Saint Nicholas and his toys,

In Russia, the little children say,

" Old Babousca has passed this way."

A Christmas Garden

A Christmas Garden.

(A prose recitation, or suggestion for composition.)

       There is a story told of a magician who conjured up a garden in the winter time. The wand of the wizard, however, is not necessary to dislose even in a northern climate in the cold months the beautiful contents of Nature's world. The varieties of evergreen, pine, hemlock, fir, cedar, and larch provide a variety of green foliage through the dreary-weather. The rich, clustering berries, besides their ornamental character, furnish food for the snowbirds. The Christmas rose, wax-like in its white purity, will bloom out of doors long after frost if a glass is turned over the plant on cold nights. The ivy remains glossy, its green berry another addition to our winter bouquet.

       Farther south, but still within our United States, the scarlet holly grows in luxuriance. So full of holiday association is this tree that its branches are carefully transported a thousand miles for use during Christmas week. Its crisp leaves, lively color, and happy sentiment make the holly, pre-eminent as a winter ornament, prince in our Christmas garden.

       A contrast is furnished by the delicate sprays of the mistletoe growing upon the limbs of the oak,

elm, and apple trees. The white berry attaches itself, curiously enough, without roots of any kind, and becomes an enduring plant.

A Christmas Carol

A Christmas Carol.

by J. R. Lowell

"What means this glory round our feet?"

The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?"

And voices chanted clear and sweet,

" To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

"What means that star?" the shepherd said,

"That brightens through the rocky glen ?"

And angels answering overhead,

Sang, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"

'Tis eighteen hundred years and more

Since those sweet oracles were dumb;

We wait for Him, like them of yore;

Alas, He seems so slow to come!

But it was said, in words of gold,

No time or sorrow e'er shall dim,

That little children might be bold

In perfect trust to come to Him.

All round about our feet shall shine

A light like that the wise men saw,

If we our loving wills incline

To that sweet Life which is the Law.

So shall we learn to understand

The simple faith of shepherds then,

And clasping kindly hand in hand,

Sing, "Peace on earth, good will to men!"

And they who do their souls no wrong,

But keep at eve the faith of morn,

Shall daily hear the angel-song,

"To-day the Prince of Peace is born!"

Old English Christmases

Old English Christmases.

       The court celebrations of Christmas were observed with great splendor during the reign of King Charles the First. The royal family, with the lords and ladies, often took part themselves in the performances, and the cost to prepare costumes and sceneries for one occasion often amounted to ten thousand dollars. During Charles's reign, and preceding his, Ben Jonson wrote the plays, or masques, for Christmas. The court doings were, of course, copied outside by the people, and up to the twelfth night after Christmas, sports and feastings held high carnival.

       So important were these Christmas court celebrations held by our ancestors, and of such moment were the preparations, that a special officer was appointed to take them in charge. To him were accorded large privileges, very considerable appointments, and a retinue equal to a prince's, counting in a chancellor, treasurer, comptroller, vice-chamberlain, divine, philosopher, astronomer, poet, physician, master of requests, clown, civilian, ushers, pages, footmen, messengers, jugglers, herald, orator, hunters, tumblers, friar, and fools. Over this mock court the mock monarch presided during the holidays with a reign as absolute as the actual monarch.

The Power of Christmas

The Power of Christmas.

       Even under the pressure of battle the influence of the Christmas season has exerted a powerful effect. In 1428, during the war of the roses, while Orleans was under siege, the English lords, history tells us, requested the French commanders to suspend hostilities, and let the usual celebration of Christmas eye take their place. This was agreed to, and the air was filled with the song of the minstrels and the music of trumpets, instead of the discordant sounds of battle.

The Christmas Tree

The Christmas Tree.

(Recitation for a boy to give before a Christmas tree is dismantled.)

Of all the trees in the woods and fields

There's none like the Christmas tree;

Tho' rich and rare is the fruit he yields,

The strangest of trees is he.

Some drink their fill from the shower or rill;

No cooling draught needs he;

Some bend and break when the storms awake,

But they reach not the Christmas tree.

When wintry winds thro' the forests sweep,

And snow robes the leafless limb;

When cold and still is the ice-bound deep,

O this is the time for him.

Beneath the dome of the sunny home,

He stands with all his charms;

'Mid laugh and song from the youthful throng,

As they gaze on his fruitful arms.

There's golden fruit on the Christmas tree,

And gems for the fair and gay;

The lettered page for the mind bears he,

And robes for the wintry day.

And there are toys for the girls and boys;

And eyes that years bedim

Grow strangely bright, with a youthful light,

As they pluck from the pendant limb.