O golden Christmas days of yore!
In sweet anticipation
I lived their joys for days before
Their glorious realization;
And on the dawn
Of Christmas morn
My childish heart was knocking
A wild tattoo,
As 'twould break through,
As I unhung my stocking.
Each simple gift that came to hand,
How marvelous I thought it!
A treasure straight from wonderland,
For Santa Claus had brought it.
And at my cries
Of glad surprise
The others all came flocking
To share my glee
And view with me
The contents of the stocking
Years sped—I left each well-loved scene
In Northern wilds to roam,
And there, 'mid tossing pine-trees green,
I made myself a home.
We numbered three
And blithe were we,
At adverse fortune mocking,
And Christmas-tide
By our fireside
Found hung the baby's stocking.
Alas! within our home to-night
No sweet young voice is ringing,
And through its silent rooms no light.
Free, childish step is springing.
The wild winds rave
O'er baby's grave
Where plumy pines are rocking
And crossed at rest
On marble breast
The hands that filled my stocking
With misty eyes but steady hand
I raise my Christmas chalice;
Here's to the children of the land
In cabin or in palace;
May each one hold
The key of gold,
The gates of glee unlocking,
And hands be found
The whole world round
To fill the Christmas stocking

Clarence H. Pearson in The Ladies' Home Journal.

[Christmas Hymn.]

(During this recitation let the piano be played very softly in running chords that resolve into the key of a Christmas carol which is taken up and sung by the entire school at the end of the poem.)
Sing, Christmas bells!
Say to the earth this is the morn
Whereon our Saviour King is born;
Sing to all men-the bond, the free,
The rich, the poor, the high, the low,
The little child that sports in glee,
The aged folk that tottering go,—
Proclaim the morn
That Christ is born,
That saveth them and saveth me!
Sing angel host!
Sing of the stars that God has placed
Above the manger in the east.
Sing of the glories of the night,
The Virgin's sweet humility,
The Babe with kingly robes bedight,—
Sing to all men where'er they be
This Christmas morn
For Christ is born,
That saveth them and saveth me!

—Eugene Field.

[Bells Across the Snow.]

(This poem may be recited by one pupil, or divided as follows:)