CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR. "Half musical, half melancholy," A masquer's face dimmed with a tear, The bells which usher in that morn, In which the large-eyed oxen fed; To Mary bowing low her head, And looking down with love sincere, Such thoughts bring Christmas once a year. At early day the youthful voice, Heard singing on from door to door, Makes the responding heart rejoice, To know the children of the poor For once are happy all day long; We smile and listen to the song, The burthen still remote or near, "Old Christmas comes but once a year." Upon a gayer happier scene, Never did holly berries peer, Or ivy throw its trailling green, On brighter forms than there are here, Nor Christmas in his old arm-chair Smile upon lips and brows more fair, Then let us sing amid our cheer, Old Christmas still comes once a year. (ELIZA COOK.) WHEN the merry spring-time weaves Pours its notes of peace and love; And the clear sun flings its glory bright and wide— my soul will own Yet More joy in winter's frown, And wake with warmer flush at Christmas tide. The summer beams may shine On the rich and curling vine, The tulip's dazzling cup; But the pearly mistletoe, And the holly berries' glow, Are not even by the boasted rose outvied; For the happy hearts beneath The green and coral wreath Love the garlands that are twined at Christmas tide. Let the autumn days produce And Nature's feast be spread In the fruitage ripe and red; 'Tis grateful to behold Gushing grapes, and fields of gold, When cheeks are browned, and red lips deeper dyed; But give, oh! give to me, The winter night of glee, The mirth and plenty seen at Christmas tide. CHRISTMAS TIDE. The northern gust may howl, The snow-drift choke the path, Or the hail-shower spend its wrath, To the merry minstrel sound, And social wood-fires blaze at Christmas tide. The song, the laugh, the shout, And soul pledge soul that leagues too long divide. Shall crown the winter night, And every glad voice welcome Christmas tide But while joy's echo falls In gay and plenteous halls, Let the poor and lowly share The warmth, the sports, the fare; For the one of humble lot Must not shiver in his cot, But claim a bounteous meed from wealth and pride. Shed kindly blessings round, Till no aching heart be found, And then all hail to merry Christmas tide! (W. M. THACKERAY.) CHRISTMAS is here; Little care we. Little we fear Weather without, The Mahogany Tree. Commoner greens, Once on the boughs, Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit; Laughter and wit Flashing so free. Life is but shortWhen we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree. Evenings we knew, Faces we miss, Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, Peace to your dust! Care, like a dun, Drain we the cup.- Let us forget, Round the old tree. Sorrows, begone! Round the old tree. CHRISTMAS IS COME. (ALBERT SMITH.) THE old north breeze through the skeleton trees But loud let it blow, for at home we know Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home; Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come. And far and near, o'er landscape drear, From casements brightly streaming, It may bluster, but never can harm us; And our Christmas feelings warm us. The flowers are torpid in their beds, Till spring's first sunbeam sleeping; Than summer's gaudiest flowers. |