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Toinette And The Elves
SUSAN COOLIDGE THE winter's sun was nearing the ho...

Is There A Santa Claus?
_The following, reprinted from the editorial page of th...

Good-nature Or Parish Matters
Mr. Stanley had just reached the last stile in the ...

A Christmas Carol
CHRISTIAN BURKE The trees are hung with crys...

A Christmas Carol
CHARLES DICKENS MASTER Peter, and the two ubiquito...

Christmas Bells
JOHN KEBLE Wake me to-night, my mother dear,...

The Call Of The Woodsman
The day before Christmas, in the year of our Lord 722...





An Ode On The Birth Of Our Saviour






ROBERT HERRICK

In numbers, and but these few,
I sing thy birth, O Jesu!
Thou pretty baby, born here
With sup'rabundant scorn here;
Who for thy princely port here,
Hadst for thy place
Of birth, a base
Out-stable for thy court here.

Instead of neat enclosures
Of interwoven osiers,
Instead of fragrant posies
Of daffodils and roses,
Thy cradle, kingly stranger,
As gospel tells,
Was nothing else
But here a homely manger.

But we with silks, not crewels,
With sundry precious jewels,
And lily work will dress thee,
And, as we dispossess thee
Of clouts, we'll make a chamber,
Sweet babe, for thee
Of ivory,
And plaster'd round with amber.





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