A Christmas Thought about Dickens.
Bertha S. Scranton.
Westminster is gray at midnight,
With shadows from wall to wall;
They have noiseless feet, these shadows,
And make no sound as they fall.
But I ween they will creep together,
A goodly band to-night,
Over a silent marble name,
In the Christmas-eve twilight.
All the tiny dear child-people
We hold in our hearts to-day,
Who will live when that same marble
Has crumbled to dust away.
“Little Em’ly’s” ghost that haunteth
The minster’s shadowy aisle,
With the grave, sweet face of Agnes,
And the child-wife Dora’s smile.
Then will come, I ween, with the others,
Poor Smike with his patient air,
And the seven little Kenwigs,
With their braided tails of hair.
And Jenny Wren, I can promise,
Will surely be there again,
With her slanting rows of children,
Crying, “Who is this in pain?”
Little Nell will wake and listen,
When the white, white world is still
And the great chimes through the midnight
From the belfry tower thrill.
The little Cratchits will hearken
And wait till the goose is done,
And the voice of tiny Tim will cry,
“God bless us every one!”
But ah! for the living mourners
On either side of the sea,
For whom no more the brave hand writes,
The heart beats cheerily.
And ah! for the saddened chambers,
Where his watchers ever wait,
They unto whom life yields but pain,
And who keep its vigil late.
Westminster is gray with shadows,
But his children never die!
Through all the Christmas times to come
Will his carol notes ring high.
The dreamer has but awakened,
And the master’s work is done,
But the bells on Time’s great steeple
Ring, “God bless us every one!”
[In the following selection the numbered stanzas can be given in concert with a musical accompaniment.]