The Christmas Stocking.

"I DON'T believe that Santa Claus will come to you and me,"
Said little crippled Nell, "a'cause, we are so poor you see;
And then I don't believe the 'chimbley's' wide enough for him,
D'ye think that Santa Claus will come, when all the lights are dim."
"Of course he comes to every one, dear, whether rich or poor;
Now go to bed dear Nell," said Nan, "he'll come to-night I'm sure."



I don't know if by chimney or if by stair he crept,
But sure enough he visited the room where Nelly slept.
He brought a golden orange, and a monkey red and blue,
That climbed a little wooden stick in a way I couldn't do.
He hung them in Nell's stocking, and Nan was right, be sure,
That Santa Claus loves every one however rich or poor.

Lizzie Lawson

No biography available

Lizzie Lawson

Golden Days.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

A Song.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

Bedtime.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

Hopes And Fears.

Lizzie Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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Christmas Treasures

I count my treasures o'er with care.--
The little toy my darling knew,
A little sock of faded hue,
A little lock of golden hair.

Long years ago this holy time,
My little one--my all to me--
Sat robed in white upon my knee
And heard the merry Christmas chime.

"Tell me, my little golden-head,
If Santa Claus should come to-night,
What shall he bring my baby bright,--
What treasure for my boy?" I said.

And then he named this little toy,
While in his round and mournful eyes
There came a look of sweet surprise,
That spake his quiet, trustful joy.

And as he lisped his evening prayer
He asked the boon with childish grace;
Then, toddling to the chimney-place,
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That night, while lengthe...

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A Curious Story

I heard such a curious story
    Of Santa Claus: once, so they say,
He set out to see what people were kind,
    Before he took presents their way.
'This year I will give but to givers,
    To those who make presents themselves,'
With a nod of his head old Santa Claus said
    To his band of bright officer-elves.

'Go into the homes of the happy
    Where pleasure stands page at the door.
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    Yes, tell me each word, too, they use:
To silver line clouds for earth's suffering crowds,
    And tell me, too, when they refuse.'

So into our homes flew the fairies,
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St. Nicholas.

In the far-off Polar seas,
Far beyond the Hebrides,
Where the icebergs, towering high,
Seem to pierce the wintry sky,
And the fur-clad Esquimaux
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Patron saint of Christmas night.

Solid walls of massive ice,
Bearing many a quaint device,
Flanked by graceful turrets twain,
Clear as clearest porcelain,
Bearing at a lofty height
Christ's pure cross in simple white,
Carven with surpassing art
From an iceberg's crystal heart.

Here St. Nick, in royal state,
Dwells, until December late
Clips the days at either end,
And the nights at each extend;
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Long Afore He Knowed Who Santy-Claus Wuz.

Jes' a little bit o' feller - I remember still, -
Ust to almost cry far Christmas, like a youngster will.
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Long afore
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Ust to wait, and set up late, a week er two ahead:
Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed:
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What "Old Santa" Overheard

'Tis said old Santa Claus one time
Told this joke on himself in rhyme:
One Christmas, in the early din
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Of bulging little socks and shoes -
A joy at which I could but choose
To listen enviously, because
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But ere my rising sigh had got
To its first quaver at the thought,
It broke in laughter, as I heard
A little voice chirp like a bird, -

"Old Santa's mighty good, I know.
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In all the world! - But I don't care,
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A Visit From St. Nicholas.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
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The children were nestled all 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 rose such a clatter,
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Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
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Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below;
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