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The Survivor's Story
Fortunately we were with our wives. It is in gener...

Alice's Christmas-tree
CHAPTER I. Alice MacNeil had made the plan of this...

The Little Sister's Vacation
WINIFRED M. KIRKLAND IT WAS to be a glorious Chris...

The Mahogany-tree
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY Christmas is her...

Ceremonies For Christmas
ROBERT HERRICK Come, bring with a noise, ...

Christmas
NAHUM TATE While shepherds watch'd their flo...

Brightest And Best Of The Sons Of The Morning
REGINALD HEBER Brightest and best of the Son...





The Christmas Carol






WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
To-night beneath my cottage eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest, with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze
Nor check the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the chords with strenuous hand!

And who but listened--till was paid
Respect to every inmate's claim:
The greeting given, the music played,
In honor of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And Merry Christmas wished to all!

How touching, when, at midnight, sweep
Snow-muffled winds, and all is dark,
To hear, and sink again to sleep!
Or, at an earlier call, to mark
By blazing fire, the still suspense
Of self-complacent innocence;

The mutual nod,--the grave disguise
Of hearts with gladness brimming o'er;
And some unbidden tears that rise
For names once heard, and heard no more;
Tears brightened by the serenade
For infant in the cradle laid.

Hail ancient Manners! sure defence,
Where they survive, of wholesome laws;
Remnants of love whose modest sense
Thus into narrow room withdraws;
Hail, Usages of pristine mould,
And ye that guard them, Mountains old!





Next: Christmas At Fezziwig's Warehouse

Previous: The Birth Of Christ



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