Posts Tagged ‘Holiday Poetry’

St. Patrick’s Day

March 17, 2012

Image from the Edwardsville Intelligencer (Edwardsville, Illinois) Mar 16, 1892

ST. PATRICK’S DAY.

St. Patrick came, St. Patrick went,
And a — wae us;
We’ve lost a Saint that Heaven sent
To guard o’er us.
And when our isle will see him back,
No one dare say;
But a star o’er an Irish shack
Will shine some day.
So rise again, ye marble halls,
And wake ye ancient voice,
And sound again that Irish harp
That made our hearts rejoice.
And let our hornmen to the hills,
Our heralds o’er the sea;
To spread the news that he has come
To set auld Ireland free!

St. Patrick kind and Mary queen
Let them approach!
With all our fairies drest in green,
Drawing their coach;
And a white winged escort of doves
Fanning the air.
Oh! light is the crown of our loves
That they will wear.
So mount ye lords and ladies fair,
On chargers white as snow,
And ride ye to your Irish halls —
Your rights of long ago —
And if our hornmen ne’er return,
In Heaven then they’ll be,
To spread the news that he has come,
And set auld Ireland free!

MASTER EMERY,
416 Eighth street, Oakland, Cal.

Oakland Tribune (Oakland, California) Mar 16, 1906

What Christmas Morning Means

December 22, 2011

CHRISTMAS TIME.

Oh, I am glad to know,
Those Christmas days of long ago,
To see the candle-lighted tree
With all the pomp of mystery,
To stand before it open-eyed
As some new tinseled toy I spied.
To wake before the dawn had come
And find beside my bed a drum,
And then to rouse the house with joy
As now does many a little boy.

Those glorious Christmas days, it seems,
Have vanished in the mist of dreams,
Yet other little boys must know
The self-same charms of long ago;
But there’s no table long drawn out
For all the folks to sit about.
No shouts of glee, no welcoming smile
To those who’d driven miles and miles
To be with us and share the day —
Those good old friends were called away.

The mother smiling at the door,
Her eyes with tears just brimming o’er,
Glad tears that seemed so strange to me,
I wondered oft how they could be.
Because, till I’d grown old, I thought
That Christmas day with joy was fraught,
And didn’t understand or know
That it is touched with grief and woe,
And howsoever large the list,
There always is a loved one missed.

The gifts were simple then, but oh,
With love they set all eyes aglow!
For ivory pen or picture framed
“Just what I wanted!” each exclaimed,
“How did you guess, Aunt Jane, that I
This very thing had longed to buy?”
Love’s altar candles were aflame
As we produced our big surprise
Which brought the tears into her eyes.

But we who were the children then
Are now the women and the men;
The girls are mothers and they cry
As mothers did in days gone by,
And I have learned through changing scenes,
Just what the Christmas morning means;
I feel their kisses on my cheek,
And find it difficult to speak —
I’ve come to understand, and know
Just how they felt so long ago.

By Edgar A. Guest

Ogden Standard Examiner (Ogden, Utah) Dec 22, 1920

Appleton Post Crescent (Appleton, Wisconsin) Dec 22, 1921

The King, the Wife, the Dream

November 23, 2011

King Tuck’s Proclamation.

Thanksgiving! and with spirits blue,
Headless I’ve come to call on you;
Attend to what I have to say,
‘N let your appetite delay,
Knowing you’ve murder done most fowl,
Should my uneasy spirit prowl,
Greet not my shade with cruel sneers
If hollow the poor shell appears,
Void of all dressing, empty, thin,
It may in dreams come stalking in.
Now thankful for a speedy roast,
Good-by, I’m yours, sincerely most.

THANKSGIVING TURKEY, 1895.

Bessemer Herald (Bessemer, Michigan) Nov 23, 1895

A Thanksgiving Trill.

For all the joys of living
A long and sweet Thanksgiving!
For this old world, with roses rife,
For mother, friend, and sweetheart — wife!
For every soft wind blowing;
For fields where Love is sowing
The seed to blossom in the years —
For woman’s love and woman’s tears
That sweeten earthly living —
The heart’s divine Thanksgiving!

Bessemer Herald (Bessemer, Michigan) Nov 23, 1895

A THANKSGIVING SOLILOQUA.

M’ wife, she wants a winter coat,
And so do I.
An’ that’ll spoil a good-sized note,
(Though clothes ain’t high).
Then both the boys are wantin’ pants,
An’ I am, too.
An ordinary circumstance
The hull year through.

Kitty an’ Emmy want new shoes,
M’ wife the same.
Lord! it does give me the blues,
To set and name
The things ‘t I hev to go an’ buy
Day after day;
Don’t make no diff’rence how I try,
There ain’t no way

To keep from spendin’ all I git,
Or pretty nigh.
— I hev saved up a little bit
An’ laid it by —
An’ come to think, now, I dunno
‘S I oughter be
A setirh’ here a talkin’ so,
Especially.

Considerin’ the dreams I hed
The other night;
My young ones an’ my wife had fled
Out o’ my sight,
An’ Satan says: “Old man,” says he,
“you want ’em back?
Jump in that stream along with me,
It’s deep an’ black.”

“An’ you’ll hev to swim a hundred years.”
An’ with a yell
He dove into the stream o’ tears
An’ swam for — well,
I jumped in, too, or thought I hed,
But struck the floor
An’ found I’d jest jumpted out o’ bed
An’ nothin’ more.

I s’pose ‘t was eatin’ hot mince pie
That made me dream.
But still, there ain’t no doubt that I
Felt how ‘t would seem
To have no folks; and here I’ve sot —
Well, I’m no saint.
But I’ll offer thanks for what I’ve got;
That beats complaint.

— Smith, Gray & Co.’s Monthly.

Bessemer Herald (Bessemer, Michigan) Nov 23, 1895

Catchin’ Time

November 23, 2011

Thanksgiving in Old Virginia.

Old black mammy has a ‘possum on to bake
With sweet potatoes, sweeter than a maple-sugar cake.
And her pickaninny’s gone, by the light of the moon,
With his yellow-haired puppy to free a fat coon.

The coon lies a-grinning in the hollow of a gum
That the yellow-hammer uses for his morning drum;
While the gray squirrel chuckles, in high old glee,
At the hickorynuts a-raining from the hickorynut tree.
The gray owl shivers on a dead oak limb
And blinks in the sunshine, mellow and dim;
While molly-cotton rabbit gives a half a dozen hops,
And hears her heart beating, of a sudden, and stops.

The air is so fine and soft and clear,
That the fence seems far and mountains seem near;
Till the partridges fly to the fences and ‘light,
And call out a song about “Old Bob White!”

“Old Bob White, are your crops all right?
Is there wheat beneath the barn for the first cold night?
The guinea-hens and turkeys find its shelter mighty warm;
We’ll gather in among ’em when there comes a storm.”

The wild turkey’s calling from the far hillside;
The foxhounds are baying on the long divide;
There’s a fat pig squealing, for his life is sweet —
But not much sweeter than his sausage meat!

— John Paul Bocock.

Bessemer Herald (Bessemer, Michigan) Nov 23, 1895

RABBIT TIME.

Rabbit time, trappin’ time
Dat’s de time fo’ me.
Set mah trap
So hit snap,
Hide bein’ a tree.

Froo de snow, dar he go.
Rabbit jumpin’ past,
Gits de trail,
Wags his tail,
Crawls in — dat’s de last.

Wif a clap down hit dtap,
Rabbit caught fo’ sho’ —
In de jail,
Wif’ out bail,
Can’t git out no mo’.

Den a pie, rabbit pie,
Decked in gran’ array;
Jus’ fo’ two,
Me an’ you,
On Thanksgibbin’ Day.

Bessemer Herald (Bessemer, Michigan) Nov 23, 1895

YesterYear for Christmas

December 22, 2009

Thomas Nast illustration, Harper's Weekly

Image from Cannonba!! at York Blog (local history section)

HEART CHIMES IN HOLLY TIME.

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO CAPT. CHARLES L. EASAM, 15th REG. KY. VOLL.

We are waiting, brother, patiently awaiting
To feel thy fond, fond kiss upon our cheek;
And breathe the welcome words we fain would speak
To thee — the hero, who the tide of battle
Strong, hast breasted since the last time greeting.
We are waiting, patiently awaiting.

We are waiting, brother, hopefully awaiting,
Within our dear old home the childhood light
Is burning cheerily for thee to-night.
Seasons are weary since our New Year parting,
And changes many since our last fond meeting.
We are waiting, hopefully awaiting.

We are waiting, brother, anxiously awaiting,
Ever through the long, long night we’re pining.
Thou comest not while stars are sweetly shining,
Nor yet at morning in the glory light.
And when the sunshine and the day is waning
We are waiting, anxiously awaiting.

We are waiting, brother, tearfully awaiting,
White as snow, thy mother’s cheek is failing
While listening to the chill wind wailing.
The Christmas hearth-lights burn but dimly — faintly!
Cold dew-damps gather fast, and hope is dying.
We are waiting, tearfully awaiting.

Hark! hear the watch dog bark! we are not waiting!
We hear a manly voice so soft and tender —
We raise our own to meet thy dark eyes splendor —
That heart beat — then Christmas chime is sweeter,
Lights are brighter and the hearth stone, glowing.
Thank God! we are not waiting, vainly waiting.

Yes, we are waiting, hopelessly awaiting.
A messenger came with that cruel letter:
Be patient, mother dear. I am not coming;
No leave of absence yet — no home returning.”
For me no Christmas chimes, no hearth light burning.
Only waiting, hopelessly awaiting.

Dear brother, through this agony of waiting,
“While the old year lies a dying” — waiting!
Other forms we love may come without thee!
Thy vacant place, ah! none can fill it!
Thy voice is silent — again to hear it!
God grant we may not thus be ever waiting!

SALLIE J. HANCOCK, of Kentucky.

The Portsmouth Times (Portsmouth, Ohio) Jan 9, 1864

From the Wilkesbarre Democrat.

A PARODY.

Turkies! who on Christmas bled,
Turkies! who on corn have fed,
Welcome to us now you’re dead,
And in the frost have hung.

“Now’s the day and now’s the hour,”
Through the market how we scour,
Seeking Turkies to devour,
Turkies old and young.

Who would be a Turkey hen;
Fed and fatten’d in a pen —
Kill’d and ate by hungry men; —
Can you tell, I pray?

Lay the proud old Turkies low,
Let the young ones run and grow,
To market they’re not fit to go,
Till next Christmas day.

The Adams Sentinel (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Dec 27, 1831

CHRISTMAS DAY.

Let this day see all wrongs forgiven,
Let peace sit crowned in every heart;
Let bitter words be left unsaid,
Let each one take his brother’s part;
Let sad eyes learn again to smile, —
A day is such a little while, —
Of all days this the shortest!

Let rich and poor together meet,
While words of kindness fill the air;
Let love spread roses in the way,
Though winter reigneth everywhere;
Let us know naught of craft or guile,
A day is such a little while, —
Of all days this the shortest!

Let us help, each with loving care,
Our brothers on the way to Heaven;
Let’s lay aside all selfishness;
Let pride from every heart be driven,
Let Christmas-day bring many a smile, —
A day is such a little while, —
Of all days this the shortest.

Indiana Weekly Messenger (Indiana, Pennsylvania) Dec 22, 1880

The Christmas Jubilee.

We can almost hear the chiming
Of the joyous Christmas bells;
Almost feel the mirth and gladness
That the Christmas tide foretells.
We can almost hear the echo
From Judea’s distant plain;
Almost hear the bursts of music
That will float in sweet refrain.

Everywhere in expectation
Hearts are beating with delight,
And in childhood’s happy kingdom
Every eye is beaming bright.
Soon the dawn will be upon us
As from out the night it wells,
And the earth will hear the music
Of the merry Christmas bells.

Soon the wondrous star of glory
Will illume the Eastern sky,
And the angel bands of heaven
Will sing paeans from on high.
Soon the story of the manger
Will be heard throughout the earth,
And each heart will leap with gladness
O’er a loving Savior’s birth.

Soon the chiming bells of Christmas
Will be ringing sweet and clear,
Pealing forth the joyful message
To all nations, far and near.
Soon the lofty dome of heaven
Will resound with music sweet,
As the bells of earth exultingly
The old-time song repeat.

Hail we then the joyful Christmas —
Happiest time of all the year —
With its sweet and ringing music,
With its mirth and boundless cheer.
Every lip is singing praises;
Every fireside rings with glee;
Every heart is shouting “welcome!”
To the Christmas jubilee.

— G.C. RHODERICK, JR., in Middletown Register.

The News (Frederick, Maryland) Dec 21, 1891

Yule-Tide in Many Lands

by Mary P. Pringle and Clara A. Urann 1916

Chapter IXYule-Tide in America