Classic Poem

Cease, little one, your laughter,
And climb upon my knee;
Be patient, dear, till after
You've listened well to me;
For now a tinge of sadness should mingle with the gladness
Of this your Christmas glee.

Our hearth is gayly roaring,
Flame-elfs dance round the room;
We see the red sparks soaring,
For us the fire-flowers bloom.
So bright we are, and cheerful, we think not of the tearful,
And those who dwell in gloom.

For while you roam, a-sleeping,
In dreamland, fair and bright,
A thousand children, weeping,
Will dread the coming light;
And pain will leave its traces on many tear-wet faces
Through all the dreary night.

Then in your prayers remember
The dear Christ to implore
For those whom this December
Brings grief, and nothing more.
And, oh! forget not, darling, those who must hear the snarling,
Gaunt wolf paw at the door.

Perhaps — who knows? — the pudgy,
Quaint driver of reindeer
May down our chimney smudgy
With such a big load steer,
That you may have the pleasure of giving from your treasure
Some poor child's heart to cheer.

This time should never find us
To our own pleasure wed;
It should of Christ remind us,
Whose heart for others bled —
Hang up your little stocking, for sleep your lids is locking,
And run away to bed!