Them Old Cheery Words

Pap he allus ust to say,
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Liked to hear him that-a-way,
In his old split-bottomed cheer
By the fireplace here at night -
Wood all in, - and room all bright,
Warm and snug, and folks all here:
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

Me and 'Lize, and Warr'n and Jess
And Eldory home fer two
Weeks' vacation; and, I guess,
Old folks tickled through and through,
Same as we was, - "Home onc't more
Fer another Chris'mus - shore!"
Pap 'u'd say, and tilt his cheer, -
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

Mostly Pap was ap' to be
Ser'ous in his "daily walk,"
As he called it; giner'ly
Was no hand to joke er talk.
Fac's is, Pap had never be'n
Rugged-like at all - and then
Three years in the army had
Hepped to break him purty bad.

Never flinched! but frost and snow
Hurt his wownd in winter. But
You bet Mother knowed it, though! -
Watched his feet, and made him putt
On his flannen; and his knee,
Where it never healed up, he
Claimed was "well now - mighty near -
Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Pap 'u'd say, and snap his eyes ...
Row o' apples sputter'n' here
Round the hearth, and me and 'Lize
Crackin' hicker'-nuts; and Warr'n
And Eldory parchin' corn;
And whole raft o' young folks here.
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

Mother tuk most comfort in
Jest a-heppin' Pap: She'd fill
His pipe fer him, er his tin
O' hard cider; er set still
And read fer him out the pile
O' newspapers putt on file
Whilse he was with Sherman - (She
Knowed the whole war-history!)

Sometimes he'd git het up some. -
"Boys," he'd say, "and you girls, too,
Chris'mus is about to come;
So, as you've a right to do,
Celebrate it! Lots has died,
Same as Him they crucified,
That you might be happy here.
Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

Missed his voice last Chris'mus - missed
Them old cheery words, you know.
Mother belt up tel she kissed
All of us - then had to go
And break down! And I laughs: "Here!
'Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
"Them's his very words," sobbed she,
"When he asked to marry me."

"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Over, over, still I hear,
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Yit, like him, I'm goin' to smile
And keep cheerful all the while:
Allus Chris'mus There - And here
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"

James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley was an American writer, poet, and best-selling author. He was known as the "Hoosier Poet" and the "Children's Poet" for his dialect works and children's poetry respectively. Over his career, Riley authored approximately 1,000 poems, including "Little Orphant Annie" and "The Raggedy Man". His influence extended into the 20th century, and his works continued to be celebrated for their nostalgic and rural themes.

James Whitcomb Riley

Like His Mother Used To Make

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

June

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Song - Wind Of The Sea

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

Plain Sermons

James Whitcomb Riley, Simple Poetry

English

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A Dubious "Old Kriss"

Us-folks is purty pore - but Ma
She's waitin' - two years more - tel Pa
He serve his term out. Our Pa he -
He's in the Penitenchurrie!

Now don't you never tell! - 'cause Sis,
The baby, she don't know he is. -
'Cause she wuz only four, you know,
He kissed her last an' hat to go!

Pa alluz liked Sis best of all
Us childern. - 'Spect it's 'cause she fall
"When she'uz ist a child, one day -
An' make her back look thataway.

Pa - 'fore he be a burglar - he's
A locksmiff, an' maked locks, an' keys,
An' knobs you pull fer bells to ring,
An' he could ist make anything! -

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How John Quit The Farm.

    Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John,
    Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time come on -
    And then, I want to say to you, we needed he'p about,
    As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops turned out!

    A better quarter-section, ner a richer soil warn't found
    Than this-here old-home place o' ourn fer fifty miles around! -
    The house was small - but plenty-big we found it from the day
    That John - our only livin' son - packed up and went way.

    You see, we tuck sich pride in John - his mother more 'n me -
    That's natchurul; but both of us was proud as proud could be;
    Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon bright,
    And seemed in work as well as play to take the same delight.
...

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Writin' Back To The Home-Folks

My dear old friends - It jes beats all,
The way you write a letter
So's ever' last line beats the first,
And ever' next-un's better! -
W'y, ever' fool-thing you putt down
You make so interestin',
A feller, readin' of 'em all,
Can't tell which is the best-un.

It's all so comfortin' and good,
'Pears-like I almost hear ye
And git more sociabler, you know,
And hitch my cheer up near ye
And jes smile on ye like the sun
Acrosst the whole per-rairies
In Aprile when the thaw's begun
And country couples marries.

It's all so good-old-fashioned like
To talk jes like we're thinkin',
Without no hidin' back o' fans
And giggle-un and winkin',
Ner sizin' how each-other's dressed -
Lik...

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Das Krist Kindel

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne" -
The old split-bottomed rocker - and was musing all alone.

I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door,
And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor;
But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream
That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream.

Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar,
With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star; -
And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away,
With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh.

And in a vision, painted like a pi...

James Whitcomb Riley

Das Krist Kindel

I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight
Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night;
And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my throne"
The old split-bottomed rocker - and was musing all alone.

I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door,
And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor;
But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream
That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream.

Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar,
With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded star;
And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away,
With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh.

And in a vision, painted like a pictur...

James Whitcomb Riley

A New Year's Time at Willards's

1
The Hired Man Talks

There's old man Willards; an' his wife;
An' Marg'et - S'repty's sister; an'
There's me - an' I'm the hired man;
An' Tomps McClure, you better yer life!

Well now, old Willards hain't so bad,
Considerin' the chance he's had.
Of course, he's rich, an' sleeps an' eats
Whenever he's a mind to: Takes
An' leans back in the Amen-seats
An' thanks the Lord fer all he makes.
That's purty much all folks has got
Ag'inst the old man, like as not!
But there's his woman - jes the turn
Of them-air two wild girls o' hern -
Marg'et an' S'repty - allus in
Fer any cuttin'-up concern -
Church festibals, and foolishin'
Round Christmas-trees, an' New Year's sprees -
Set up to watch the Old Year go
An' New Year come - sich thi...

James Whitcomb Riley