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THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

FOR weeks, and weeks, and weeks agone,
They thought of merry Christmas tide,
And little fingers to and fro

The industrious needle plied.
And little tongues were wagging loud
Of all the wonders then to be,
And little hearts were glad and proud
And little lips laughed merrily.

And little heads with schemes were full,
And little eyes with mischief bright,
Grew more than ever beautiful,

And filled the house with new delight.

They banners made, and dolkins drest
In rich and rare and strange attire,
With stars and spangles on each breast,
Winged angels some-some brigands dire.
And bon-bon bags, a mighty store,

Of every texture, every hue;

Of sea-shells brought from many a shore,
They baskets made; and fancy flew
On wildest wings to bring designs
Into each hopeful, guileless mind;
And fays of air, and gnomes of mines,
These busy fingers then combined.

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Thus forms grotesque, forms graceful too,

These little poets called to life;

And round their works a glory threw,

Free from man's thought, and pain and strife. About them all an ease, a grace,

The poetry of childhood threw ;

No sign of toil, of art no trace,

Spontaneous impulse through and through.

The things were made, the toys complete,
And cut the red-gemmed holly-tree;
And round it gathered girls and boys,
Who laughed and shouted merrily.
On every branch was thickly hung

The works of hope, and love, and joy ;
And hand in hand the youngsters clung,
And watched with rapture every toy
And sparkling lamps, and tapers bright,
Were all about the holly spread,
And such a vision of delight

Was o'er those young hearts never shed.
They danced, they sung, they shouted loud,
They laughed as only children can ;
And some were meek, and some were proud,
As round the Christmas tree they ran.
And out of heaven no sight is seen

So beautiful; from taint so free;

So like what we poor ones have been ;
So like the things we hope to be.

The dance is done; the singing o'er ;
And hope is beaming from each eye:
For now the Tree must yield its store,
And little hearts beat anxiously.
No monarch, by ambition fired,

E'er in his projects found such joy,
Or seized the spoils so long desired,
With half the zest with which each boy
His trinket takes; and what a shout
Of jubilation greets his gain
From that enthusiastic rout!

For all uniting in the strain,
A hearty, genuine, generous peal
Each little victory proclaims,
And all as joyous seem to feel

As he, the winner of the games.
Thus one by one are borne away
The glittering gew-gaws merrily—
But oh, the pleasure none can say

We gathered from our Christmas Tree.

"TIS CHRISTMAS TIME AGAIN.

COME let us sing a merry stave,

For merry Christmas time ;

And drink a health to friends at home, And friends in every clime.

And having pledged the hearts we love, "God speed!" to all beside :

For churlish he who now would be
The slave of hate or pride :

So merry, merry, merry be,
And sing a merry strain,
And this the burden of the song-
"'Tis Christmas time again."

The cheerful holly sheds o'er all
Its rich and ruddy glow;

And blushing maidens eye askance
The white gemmed mistletoe :
And friends long sundered meet again
And gather round the hearth,
With pleasant chat, and harmless jokes,

And still increasing mirth.

So merry, merry, merry be,

And sing a merry strain,

And this the burden of the song

"Tis Christmas time again."

Let man and maiden all unite,

The aged and the young,
And little children's treble swell

The burden of the song.

While Hope and Faith and Charity,
With Love's joy-bringing power,
Sit at each hearth, be in each heart,
To bless the Christmas hour.
So merry, merry, merry be,

And sing a merry strain;

And this the burden of the song""Tis Christmas time again."

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.

1858-1859.

Oн, knolling bells, peal forth a dirge
For the swiftly dying year!

And gentle hearts, with tender hands,
Support the solemn bier;

And kindly o'er the old man's grave
The season's flowers we'll strew;
Though unto many he's been harsh,
And kind, alas! to few.

But he is dying. On his faults
We'll look with pitying eye;
Nor bury him without a dirge,
Nor part without a sigh ;

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