The Three Kings

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere;

And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,

Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,

Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell, And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast, And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest, With the people they met at some wayside well.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,
"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news,
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain;

We know of no king but Herod the Great!" They thought the Wise Men were men insane, As they spurred their horses across the plain

Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this thing, Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them; And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away, and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of morn;

Yes, it stopped,-it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

The city of David, where Christ was born.

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And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard, Through the silent street, till their horses turned

And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;

But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred, And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,

The little child in the manger lay,

The Child that would be King one day
Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,

Sat watching beside his place of rest, Watching the even flow of his breath, For the joy of life and the terror of death Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:

The gold was their tribute to a King; The frankincense, with its odor sweet, Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;

The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone;
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said

Of an endless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]

LULLABY IN BETHLEHEM

THERE hath come an host to see Thee,'
Baby dear,

Bearded men with eyes of flame
And lips of fear,

A Child's Song of Christmas 219

For the heavens, they say, have broken

Into blinding gulfs of glory,

And the Lord, they say, hath spoken

In a little wondrous story,

Baby dear.

There have come three kings to greet Thee,
Baby dear,

Crowned with gold, and clad in purple,.
They draw near.

They have brought rare silks to bind Thee,
At Thy feet, behold, they spread them,
From their thrones they sprang to find Thee,
And a blazing star hath led them,
Baby dear.

I have neither jade nor jasper,
Baby dear,

Thou art all my hope and glory,

And my fear,

Yet for all the gems that strew Thee,

And the costly gowns that fold Thee,

Yea, though all the world should woo Thee,
Thou art mine-and fast I hold Thee,

Baby dear.

Henry Howarth Bashford [1880

A CHILD'S SONG OF CHRISTMAS

My counterpane is soft as silk,

My blankets white as creamy milk.

The hay was soft to Him, I know,
Our little Lord of long ago.

Above the roofs the pigeons fly
In silver wheels across the sky.

The stable-doves they cooed to them,
Mary and Christ in Bethlehem.

Bright shines the sun across the drifts,

And bright upon my Christmas gifts.

They brought Him incense, myrrh, and gold,

Our little Lord who lived of old.

Oh, soft and clear our mother sings
Of Christmas joys and Christmas things.
God's holy angels sang to them,
Mary and Christ in Bethlehem.

Our hearts they hold all Christmas dear,
And earth seems sweet and heaven seems near,

Oh, heaven was in His sight, I know,

That little Child of long ago.

Marjorie L. C. Pickthall [1883–

JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS

FATHER calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!

Mighty glad I ain't a girl-ruther be a boy,

Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!

Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake— Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-aché!

'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no

flies on me,

But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!”
But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,
As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,
Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd

know

A Visit from St. Nicholas

That Buff'lo Bill and cow-boys is good enough for me!
Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!

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And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still, His eyes they keep a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"

The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become

Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz,

That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be!

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes an' toys,

Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;

So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's an' q's, An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, an' don't wear out yer shoes;

Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an" "Yessur" to the men, An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;

But, thinking of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree, Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

Eugene Field [1850-1895]

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

T

"TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that ST. NICHOLAS SOon would be there;
The children were nestled ali snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

I