bless us every one, prayed Tiny Tim,
and dwarfed of body, yet so tall
soul, we tiptoe earth to look on him,
towering over all."
-James Whitcomb Riley
"Oh! But he was
a tight-fiste hand at the grind-
stone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping,
scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and
sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out
generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary
as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features,
nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek,
stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue;
and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice."
A Christmas Carol, Stave 1: Marley's Ghost
Heap on more wood! —jthe wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We'll keep our hristmas merry still.
-Sir Walter Scott
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited
Hides hills and woods, the river and the
And veils the farm-house at the
The steed and traveller stopped, the
Delayed, all friends shut out, the
Around the radiant fireplace,
In a tumultuous privacy of
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
I'd load the wagon with
And a candy of every kind
And buy all the almond
and pecan nuts
And taffy that I could
And barrels and barrels
I'd scatter right in the
So the children would
find them the very first thing
When they wake on
earth has grown old with its burden of care But at Christmas it always is young,
The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair And its soul full of music breaks
the air, When the song of angels is sung."
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter,
Our God, heaven cannot hold him,
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When he comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
Enough for him, whom Cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
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.
yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts. None of us yet know,
for none of us have been taught in early youth, what fairy palaces
we may build of beautiful thoughts, as proof against all adversity.
We may build bright, beautiful memories, noble histories,
faithful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts,
which care cannot disturb, pain make gloomy, or poverty take away
from us. They are houses built without hands, for our souls to live in.
“What means this glory
round our feet,”
The Magi mused, “more bright than morn!”
And voices chanted clear and sweet,
“Today the Prince of Peace is born!”
“What means this star,” the shepherds said,
“That brightens through the rocky glen?”
And angels answering overhead,
Sang “Peace on earth, good will to men!”
-James Russell Lowell
How far is it to Bethlehem?
Not very far.
Shall we find the stable room
Lit by a star?
Can we see the little child,
Is he within?
If we lift the wooden latch
May we go in?
May we stroke the creatures there,
Ox, ass, or sheep?
May we peep like them and see
If we touch his tiny hand
Will he awake?
Will he know we've come so far
Just for his sake?
Great kings have precious gifts,
And we have naught,
Little smiles and little tears
Are all we brought.
For all weary children
Mary must weep.
Here, on his bed of straw
Sleep, children, sleep.
God in his mother's arms,
Babes in the byre,
Sleep, as they sleep who find
Their heart's desire.