CHRISTMAS COMES BUT ONCE A YEAR. At early day the youthful voice, Heard singing on from door to door, For once are happy all day long; 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 trailing green, On brighter forms than there are here, Nor Christmas in his old arm-chair CHRISTMAS TIDE. 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- 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 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. The northern gust may howl, The snow-drift choke the path Or the hail-shower spend its wrath, But the sternest blast right bravely is defied, While limbs and spirits bound To the merry minstrel sound, And social wood-fires blaze at Christmas tide. The song, the laugh, the shout, Then hand to hand shall greet, And soul pledge soul that leagues too long divide. Mirth, friendship, love, and light, 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! THE MAHOGANY TREE. CHRISTMAS is here; W. M. THACKERAY. Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill: Little care we. Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree. Commoner greens, Poets, in jokes, Once on the boughs Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Evenings we knew, Faces we miss, Kind hearts and true, Gentle and just, We sing round the tree. Care, like a dun, every one; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree! Drain we the cup.- Let us forget, Round the old tree. Sorrows, begone! 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, It may bluster, but never can harm us; And our Christmas feelings warm us. Here's happiness to all, abroad and at home; Here's happiness to all, for Christmas is come. The flowers are torpid in their beds, Till spring's first sunbeam sleeping; Not e'en the snowdrops' pointed heads Above the earth are peeping; |