From church and chapel and dome and tower, Near — far and everywhere, The merry bells chime loud and clear Upon the frosty air.
All down the marble avenues The lamp-lit casements glow, And from an hundred palaces Glad carols float and flow.
A thousand lamps from street to street Blaze on the dusky air, And light the way for happy feet To carol, praise and prayer.
‘ Tis Christmas eve. In church and hall The laden fir-trees bend; Glad children throng the festival And grandsires too attend.
Fur-wrapped and gemmed with pearls and gold, Proud ladies rich and fair As Egypt's splendid queen of old In all her pomp are there.
And many a costly, golden gift Hangs on each Christmas-tree, While round and round the carols drift In waves of melody.
In a dim and dingy attic, Away from the pomp and glare, A widow sits by a flickering lamp, Bowed down by toil and care.
On her toil-worn hand her weary head, At her feet a shoe half-bound, On the bare, brown table a loaf of bread, And hunger and want around.
By her side at the broken window, With her rosy feet all bare, Her little one carols a Christmas tune To the chimes on the frosty air.
And the mother dreams of the by-gone years And their merry Christmas-bells, Till her cheeks are wet with womanly tears, And a sob in her bosom swells.
The child looked up; her innocent ears Had caught the smothered cry; She saw the pale face wet with tears She fain would pacify.
“Do n't cry, mama,” she softly said — “Here's a Christmas gift for you,” And on the mother's cheek a kiss She printed warm and true.
“God bless my child!” the mother cried And caught her to her breast — “O Lord, whose Son was crucified, Thy precious gift is best.
“If toil and trouble be my lot While on life's sea I drift, O Lord, my soul shall murmur not, If Thou wilt spare Thy gift.”
Cookies on Poetry Cove