Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 66

'Twas the eve before Christmas; "Good night" had been said, And Annie and Willie had crept into bed; There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes, And each little bosom was heaving with sighs, For to-night their stern father's command had been given That they should retire precisely at seven Instead of at eight; for they troubled him more With questions unheard of than ever before; He had told them he thought this delusion a sin, No such being as Santa Claus ever had been, And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear How he scrambled down chimneys with presents, each year, And this was the reason that two little heads So restlessly tossed on their soft downy beds.

Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten; Not a word had been spoken by either till then; When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, And whispered, "Dear Annie, is oo fast asleep?"

"Why, no, brother Willie," a sweet voice replies, "I've tried it in vain, but I can't shut my eyes; For somehow, it makes me so sorry because Dear papa has said there is no Santa Claus; Now we know there is, and it can't be denied, For he came every year before mamma died; But then I've been thinking that she used to pray, And G.o.d would hear everything mamma would say; And perhaps she asked him to send Santa Claus here With the sacks full of presents he brought every year."

"Well, why tant we pray dest as mamma did then, And ask Him to send him with presents aden?"

"I've been thinking so, too," and, without a word more, Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor, And four little knees the soft carpet pressed, And two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast.

"Now, Willie, you know we must firmly believe That the presents we ask for we're sure to receive; You must wait just as still till I say the 'Amen,'

And by that you will know that your turn has come then.

Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me.

And grant as the favor we are asking of Thee!

I want a wax dolly, a tea-set and ring, And an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring.

Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see That Santa Claus loves us far better than he; Don't let him get fretful and angry again At dear brother Willie, and Annie, Amen!"

"Peas Desus 'et Santa Taus tum down to-night, And bing us some pesents before it is 'ight; I want he should div me a nice ittle sed, With bight, shiny unners, and all painted yed; A box full of tandy, a book and a toy-- Amen--and then Desus, I'll be a dood boy."

Their prayers being ended they raised up their heads, And with hearts light and cheerful again sought their beds; They were soon lost in slumber both peaceful and deep, And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep.

Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck ten Ere the father had thought of his children again; He seems now to hear Annie's half suppressed sighs, And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes.

"I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said, "And should not have sent them so early to bed; But then I was troubled,--my feelings found vent, For bank-stock to-day has gone down ten per cent.

But of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this, And that I denied them the thrice asked-for kiss; But just to make sure I'll steal up to their door, For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before."

So saying, he softly ascended the stairs, And arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers.

His Annie's "bless papa" draws forth the big tears, And Willie's grave promise falls sweet on his ears.

"Strange, strange I'd forgotten," said he with a sigh, "How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh.

I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said, "By answering their prayers, ere I sleep in my bed."

Then he turned to the stairs, and softly went down, Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing-gown; Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street, A millionaire facing the cold driving sleet, Nor stopped he until he had bought everything, From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring.

Indeed he kept adding so much to his store That the various presents outnumbered a score; Then homeward he turned with his holiday load And with Aunt Mary's aid in the nursery 'twas stowed.

Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine-tree, By the side of a table spread out for a tea; A work-box well filled in the centre was laid, And on it the ring for which Annie had prayed; A soldier in uniform stood by a sled With bright shining runners, and all painted red; There were b.a.l.l.s, dogs and horses, books pleasing to see, And birds of all colors--were perched in the tree, While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top, As if getting ready more presents to drop.

And as the fond father the picture surveyed, He thought for his trouble he had amply been paid; And he said to himself as he brushed off a tear, "I'm happier to-night than I've been for a year, I've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before-- What care I if bank-stocks fall ten per cent more.

Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe, To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas eve."

So thinking he gently extinguished the light, And tripped down the stairs to retire for the night.

As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun Put the darkness to flight, and the stars, one by one, Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, And at the same moment the presents espied; Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, And the very gifts prayed for were all of them found; They laughed and they cried in their innocent glee, And shouted for papa to come quick and see What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night (Just the things that they wanted) and left before light; "And now," added Annie, in a voice soft and low, "You'll believe there's a Santa, Clans, papa, I know"; While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee, Determined no secret between them should be, And told in soft whispers how Annie had said That their blessed mamma, so long ago dead, Used to kneel down and pray by the side of her chair, And that G.o.d, up in heaven, had answered her prayer!

"Then we dot up, and payed dust as well as we tould, And Dod answered our payers; now wasn't he dood?"

"I should say that he was if he sent you all these, And knew just what presents my children would please.

Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf, 'Twould be cruel to tell him I did it myself."

Blind father! who caused your proud heart to relent, And the hasty word spoken so soon to repent?

'Twas the Being who made you steal softly upstairs, And made you His agent to answer their prayers.

_Sophia P. Snow._

Trailing Arbutus

I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made Against the bitter East their barricade, And, guided by its sweet Perfume, I found, within a narrow dell, The trailing spring flower tinted like a sh.e.l.l Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet.

From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines Moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines Lifted their glad surprise, While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees His feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze, And snow-drifts lingered under April skies.

As, pausing, o'er the lonely flower I bent, I thought of lives thus lowly clogged and pent, Which yet find room, Through care and c.u.mber, coldness and decay, To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day And make the sad earth happier for their bloom.

_J.G. Whittier._

When the Light Goes Out

Tho' yer lamp o' life is burnin' with a clear and steady light, An' it never seems ter flicker, but it's allers shinin' bright; Tho' it sheds its rays unbroken for a thousand happy days-- Father Time is ever turnin' down the wick that feeds yer blaze.

So it clearly is yer duty ef you've got a thing to do Ter put yer shoulder to ther wheel an' try to push her through; Ef yer upon a wayward track you better turn about-- You've lost ther chance to do it When the Light Goes Out.

Speak kindly to the woman who is working fer yer praise, Ther same way as you used ter in those happy courtin' days; She likes appreciation just the same ez me an' you, And it's only right and proper that yer give her what is due.

Don't wait until her lamp o' life is burnin' dim an' low, Afore you tell her what you orter told her long ago-- Now's ther time ter cheer her up an' put her blues to rout-- You've lost ther chance to do it When the Light Goes Out.

Don't keep a-puttin' matters off an' settin' dates ahead-- To-morrow's sun'll find a hundred thousand of us dead; Don't think because yer feelin well you won't be sick no more-- Sometimes the reddest pippin has a worm-hole to the core.

Don't let a killin' habit grow upon you soft and still Because you think thet you ken throw it from you at your will-- Now's ther time ter quit it when yer feelin' brave an' stout-- You've lost ther chance to do it When the Light Goes Out.

I'd rather die with nothin' then ter hev ther people say That I had got my money in a robbin', graspin' way; No words above my restin' place from any tongue or pen Would hev a deeper meanin' than "He helped his fellow-men."

So ef you hev a fortune and you want to help the poor, Don't keep a-stavin' off until yon get a little more; Ef yer upon a miser's track you better turn about-- Yer record keeps on burnin'

When the Light Goes Out.

_Harry S. Chester._

Prayer and Potatoes

An old lady sat in her old arm-chair, With wrinkled visage and disheveled hair, And pale and hunger-worn features; For days and for weeks her only fare, As she sat there in her old arm-chair, Had been potatoes.

But now they were gone; of bad or good.

Not one was left for the old lady's food Of those potatoes; And she sighed and said, "What shall I do?

Where shall I send, and to whom shall I go For more potatoes?"

And she thought of the deacon over the way, The deacon so ready to worship and pray, Whose cellar was full of potatoes; And she said: "I will send for the deacon to come; He'll not mind much to give me some Of such a store of potatoes."

And the deacon came over as fast as he could, Thinking to do the old lady some good, But never thought of potatoes; He asked her at once what was her chief want, And she, simple soul, expecting a grant, Immediately answered, "Potatoes."

But the deacon's religion didn't lie that way; He was more accustomed to preach and pray Than to give of his h.o.a.rded potatoes; So, not hearing, of course, what the old lady said, He rose to pray with uncovered head, But _she_ only thought of potatoes.

He prayed for patience, and wisdom, and grace, But when he prayed, "Lord, give her peace,"

She audibly sighed "Give potatoes"; And at the end of each prayer which he said, He heard, or thought that he heard in its stead, The same request for potatoes.

The deacon was troubled; knew not what to do; 'Twas very embarra.s.sing to have her act so About "those carnal potatoes."

So, ending his prayer, he started for home; As the door closed behind him, he heard a deep groan, "Oh, give to the hungry, potatoes!"