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Posy Ring: A Book of Verse for Children

<h2>XI</h2> <h2>BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</h2> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/3acorns.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="67" alt="decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='poem'> Then let the holly red be hung, And all the sweetest carols sung, While we with joy remember them— The journeyers to Bethlehem. </div> <div class='signature'>Frank Dempster Sherman.</div> [256] <hr style="width: 65%;" /> [257] <h2>BELLS OF CHRISTMAS</h2> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/3acorns.png" width-obs="100" height-obs="67" alt="decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> The Adoration of the Wise Men </div> <div class='poem'> Saw you never in the twilight, When the sun had left the skies, Up in heaven the clear stars shining, Through the gloom like silver eyes? So of old the wise men watching, Saw a little stranger star, And they knew the King was given, And they follow'd it from far. Heard you never of the story, How they cross'd the desert wild, Journey'd on by plain and mountain, Till they found the Holy Child? How they open'd all their treasure, Kneeling to that Infant King, Gave the gold and fragrant incense, Gave the myrrh in offering? Know ye not that lowly Baby Was the bright and morning star, He who came to light the Gentiles, [258]And the darken'd isles afar? And we too may seek his cradle, There our heart's best treasures bring, Love, and Faith, and true devotion, For our Saviour, God, and King. </div> <div class='signature'>Cecil Frances Alexander.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> Cradle Hymn </div> <div class='poem'> Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber; Holy angels guard thy bed; Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care, or payment, All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee! Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, [259]And His softest bed was hay. See the kindly shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky! When they sought Him, there they found Him, With his Virgin-Mother by. See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lovely infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hushed the holy child. Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the honest oxen fed; —Peace, my darling! here's no danger! Here's no ox a-near thy bed! Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise! I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire; Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire. </div> <div class='signature'>Isaac Watts.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> [260] <div class='center'> The Christmas Silence </div> <div class='poem'> Hushed are the pigeons cooing low On dusty rafters of the loft; And mild-eyed oxen, breathing soft, Sleep on the fragrant hay below. Dim shadows in the corner hide; The glimmering lantern's rays are shed Where one young lamb just lifts his head, Then huddles 'gainst his mother's side. Strange silence tingles in the air; Through the half-open door a bar Of light from one low-hanging star Touches a baby's radiant hair. No sound: the mother, kneeling, lays Her cheek against the little face. Oh human love! Oh heavenly grace! 'Tis yet in silence that she prays! Ages of silence end to-night; Then to the long-expectant earth Glad angels come to greet His birth In burst of music, love, and light! </div> <div class='signature'>Margaret Deland.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> [261] <div class='center'>An Offertory </div> <div class='poem'> Oh, the beauty of the Christ Child, The gentleness, the grace, The smiling, loving tenderness, The infantile embrace! All babyhood he holdeth, All motherhood enfoldeth— Yet who hath seen his face? Oh, the nearness of the Christ Child, When, for a sacred space, He nestles in our very homes— Light of the human race! We know him and we love him, No man to us need prove him— Yet who hath seen his face? </div> <div class='signature'>Mary Mapes Dodge.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> Christmas Song </div> <div class='poem'> Why do bells for Christmas ring? Why do little children sing? Once a lovely, shining star, Seen by shepherds from afar, Gently moved until its light [262]Made a manger-cradle bright. There a darling baby lay Pillowed soft upon the hay. And his mother sang and smiled, "This is Christ, the holy child." So the bells for Christmas ring, So the little children sing. </div> <div class='signature'>Lydia Avery Coonley Ward.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> A Visit from St. Nicholas </div> <div class='poem2'> 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap— When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, [263]Tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave a lustre of midday to objects below; When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick! More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name. "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!— To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky, So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew, With a sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicholas, too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound: He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, [264]And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot: A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf: And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings: then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, [265]And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!" </div> <div class='signature'>Clement C. Moore.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> The Christmas Trees </div> <div class='poem'> There's a stir among the trees, There's a whisper in the breeze, Little ice-points clash and clink, Little needles nod and wink, Sturdy fir-trees sway and sigh— "Here am I! Here am I!" "All the summer long I stood In the silence of the woods. Tall and tapering I grew; What might happen well I knew; For one day a little bird Sang, and in the song I heard Many things quite strange to me [266]Of Christmas and the Christmas tree. "When the sun was hid from sight In the darkness of the night, When the wind with sudden fret Pulled at my green coronet, Staunch I stood, and hid my fears, Weeping silent fragrant tears, Praying still that I might be Fitted for a Christmas tree. "Now here we stand On every hand! In us a hoard of summer stored, Birds have flown over us, Blue sky has covered us, Soft winds have sung to us, Blossoms have flung to us Measureless sweetness, Now in completeness We wait." </div> <div class='signature'>Mary F. Butts.</div> [267] <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> A Birthday Gift </div> <div class='poem'> .        .        .        .        .        .        .        . What can I give him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb, If I were a wise man I would do my part,— Yet what I can I give him, Give my heart. </div> <div class='signature'>Christina Rossetti.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> A Christmas Lullaby </div> <div class='poem'> Sleep, baby, sleep! The Mother sings: Heaven's angels kneel and fold their wings. Sleep, baby, sleep! With swathes of scented hay Thy bed By Mary's hand at eve was spread. Sleep, baby, sleep! At midnight came the shepherds, they Whom seraphs wakened by the way. [268]Sleep, baby, sleep! And three kings from the East afar, Ere dawn came, guided by the star. Sleep, baby, sleep! They brought Thee gifts of gold and gems, Pure orient pearls, rich diadems. Sleep, baby, sleep! But Thou who liest slumbering there, Art King of Kings, earth, ocean, air. Sleep, baby, sleep! Sleep, baby, sleep! The shepherds sing: Through heaven, through earth, hosannas ring. Sleep, baby, sleep! </div> <div class='signature'>John Addington Symonds.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> I Saw Three Ships </div> <div class='poem'> I saw three ships come sailing in, On Christmas day, on Christmas day; I saw three ships come sailing in, On Christmas day in the morning. .        .        .        .        .        .        .        . Pray whither sailed those ships all three On Christmas day, on Christmas day? Pray whither sailed those ships all three [269]On Christmas day in the morning? Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem On Christmas day, on Christmas day; Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem On Christmas day in the morning. And all the bells on earth shall ring On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the bells on earth shall ring On Christmas day in the morning. And all the angels in heaven shall sing On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the angels in heaven shall sing On Christmas day in the morning. And all the souls on earth shall sing On Christmas day, on Christmas day; And all the souls on earth shall sing On Christmas day in the morning. </div> <div class='signature'>Old Carol.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> Santa Claus </div> <div class='poem'> He comes in the night! He comes in the night! He softly, silently comes; While the little brown heads on the pillows so white [270]Are dreaming of bugles and drums. He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam, While the white flakes around him whirl; Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home Of each good little boy and girl. His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide; It will carry a host of things, While dozens of drums hang over the side, With the sticks sticking under the strings. And yet not the sound of a drum is heard, Not a bugle blast is blown, As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird, And drops to the hearth like a stone. The little red stockings he silently fills, Till the stockings will hold no more; The bright little sleds for the great snow hills Are quickly set down on the floor. Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird, And glides to his seat in the sleigh; Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard As he noiselessly gallops away. He rides to the East, and he rides to the West, [271]Of his goodies he touches not one; He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast When the dear little folks are done. Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can; This beautiful mission is his; Then, children, be good to the little old man, When you find who the little man is. </div> <div class='signature'>Unknown.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> Neighbors of the Christ Night </div> <div class='poem'> Deep in the shelter of the cave, The ass with drooping head Stood weary in the shadow, where His master's hand had led. About the manger oxen lay, Bending a wide-eyed gaze Upon the little new-born Babe, Half worship, half amaze. High in the roof the doves were set, And cooed there, soft and mild, Yet not so sweet as, in the hay, The Mother to her Child. The gentle cows breathed fragrant breath To keep Babe Jesus warm, While loud and clear, o'er hill and dale, [272]The cocks crowed, "Christ is born!" Out in the fields, beneath the stars, The young lambs sleeping lay, And dreamed that in the manger slept Another, white as they. .        .        .        .        .        .        .        . These were Thy neighbors, Christmas Child; To Thee their love was given, For in Thy baby face there shone The wonder-light of Heaven. </div> <div class='signature'>Nora Archibald Smith.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> Cradle Hymn </div> <div class='poem'> Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head. The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay— The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay. The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes, But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes. I love thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky, And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh. </div> <div class='signature'>Martin Luther.</div> [273] <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> <div class='center'> The Christmas Holly </div> <div class='poem'> The holly! the holly! oh, twine it with bay— Come give the holly a song; For it helps to drive stern winter away, With his garment so sombre and long; It peeps through the trees with its berries of red, And its leaves of burnished green, When the flowers and fruits have long been dead, And not even the daisy is seen. Then sing to the holly, the Christmas holly, That hangs over peasant and king; While we laugh and carouse 'neath its glittering boughs, To the Christmas holly we'll sing. .        .        .        .        .        .        .        . </div> <div class='signature'>Eliza Cook.</div> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/1acorn.png" width-obs="19" height-obs="30" alt="Decoration" title="" /></div> [274] <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class='poem'> Said I to myself, here's a chance for me The Lilliput Laureate for to be! And these are the Specimens I sent in To Pinafore Palace. Shall I win? </div> <div class='signature'>William Brighty Rands.</div> [275] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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