Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two

by Various

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Christmas Day in the Workhouse

It is Christmas day in the workhouse,

And the cold bare walls are bright

With garlands of green and holly,

And the place is a pleasant sight:

For with clean-washed hands and faces,

In a long and hungry line

The paupers sit at the tables,

For this is the hour they dine.

And the guardians and their ladies,

Although the wind is east,

Have come in their furs and wrappers

To watch their charges feast;

To smile and be condescending,

Put pudding on pauper plates,

To be hosts at the workhouse banquet

They've paid for—with the rates.

Oh, the paupers are meek and lowly

With their "Thank'ee kindly, mum's";

So long as they fill their stomachs,

What matter whence it comes?

But one of the old men mutters,

And pushes his plate aside:

"Great God!" he cries; "but it chokes me;

For this is the day she died."

The guardians gazed in horror,

The master's face went white:

"Did a pauper refuse their pudding?"

"Could their ears believe aright?"

Then the ladies clutched their husbands

Thinking the man would die,

Struck by a bolt, or something,

By the outraged One on high.

But the pauper sat for a moment,

Then rose 'mid a silence grim,

For the others had ceased to chatter,

And trembled in every limb.

He looked at the guardians' ladies,

Then, eyeing their lords, he said:

"I eat not the food of villains

Whose hands are foul and red,

"Whose victims cry for vengeance

From their dark unhallowed graves."

"He's drunk!" said the workhouse master,

"Or else he's mad, and raves."

"Not drunk or mad," cried the pauper,

"But only a hunted beast,

Who, torn by the hounds and mangled,

Declines the vulture's feast.

"I care not a curse for the guardians,

And I won't be dragged away.

Just let me have the fit out,

It's only on Christmas day

That the black past comes to goad me,

And prey on my burning brain,

I'll tell you the rest in a whisper,—

I swear I won't shout again,

"Keep your hands off me, curse you!

Hear me right out to the end,

You come here to see how paupers

The season of Christmas spend.

You come here to watch us feeding,

As they watch the captured beast,

Hear why a penniless pauper

Spits on your palfry feast.

"Do you think I will take your bounty,

And let you smile and think

You're doing a noble action

With the parish's meat and drink?

Where is my wife, you traitors—

The poor old wife you slew?

Yes, by the God above us,

My Nance was killed by you!

"Last winter my wife lay dying,

Starved in a filthy den;

I had never been to the parish,—

I came to the parish then.

I swallowed my pride in coming,

For, ere the ruin came.

I held up my head as a trader,

And I bore a spotless name.

"I came to the parish, craving

Bread for a starving wife,

Bread for the woman who'd loved me

Through fifty years of life;

And what do you think they told me,

Mocking my awful grief?

That 'the House' was open to us,

But they wouldn't give 'out relief.'

"I slunk to the filthy alley—

'Twas a cold, raw Christmas eve—

And the bakers' shops were open,

Tempting a man to thieve:

But I clenched my fists together,

Holding my head awry,

So I came to her empty-handed

And mournfully told her why.

"Then I told her 'the House' was open;

She had heard of the ways of that,

For her bloodless cheeks went crimson,

And up in her rags she sat,

Crying, 'Bide the Christmas here, John,

We've never had one apart;

I think I can bear the hunger,—

The other would break my heart.'

"All through that eve I watched her,

Holding her hand in mine,

Praying the Lord, and weeping

Till my lips were salt as brine.

I asked her once if she hungered,

And as she answered 'No,'

The moon shone in at the window

Set in a wreath of snow.

"Then the room was bathed in glory,

And I saw in my darling's eyes

The far-away look of wonder

That comes when the spirit flies;

And her lips were parched and parted,

And her reason came and went,

For she raved of our home in Devon

Where our happiest years were spent.

"And the accents, long forgotten,

Came back to the tongue once more,

For she talked like the country lassie

I woo'd by the Devon shore.

Then she rose to her feet and trembled,

And fell on the rags and moaned,

And, 'Give me a crust—I'm famished—

For the love of God!' she groaned.

"I rushed from the room like a madman,

And flew to the workhouse gate,

Crying 'Food for a dying woman?'

And the answer came, 'Too late.'

They drove me away with curses;

Then I fought with a dog in the street,

And tore from the mongrel's clutches

A crust he was trying to eat.

"Back, through the filthy by-lanes!

Back, through the trampled slush!

Up to the crazy garret,

Wrapped in an awful hush.

My heart sank down at the threshold,

And I paused with a sudden thrill,

For there in the silv'ry moonlight

My Nance lay, cold and still.

"Up to the blackened ceiling

The sunken eyes were cast—

I knew on those lips all bloodless

My name had been the last:

She'd called for her absent husband—

O God! had I but known!—

Had called in vain, and in anguish

Had died in that den—alone.

"Yes, there, in a land of plenty,

Lay a loving woman dead,

Cruelly starved and murdered

For a loaf of the parish bread.

At yonder gate, last Christmas,

I craved for a human life.

You, who would feast us paupers,

What of my murdered wife!

"There, get ye gone to you dinners;

Don't mind me in the least;

Think of the happy paupers

Eating your Christmas feast;

And when you recount their blessings

In your snug, parochial way,

Say what you did for me, too,

Only last Christmas Day."

George R. Sims.

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Our Presidents—A Memory Rhyme

First on the list is Washington, Virginia's proudest name;

John Adams next, the Federalist, from Massachusetts came;

Three sons of old Virginia into the White House go—

'Twas Jefferson, and Madison, and then came James Monroe.

Massachusetts for one term sent Adams called John Q.,

And Tennessee a Democrat, brave Jackson staunch and true.

Martin Van Buren of New York, and Harrison we see,

And Tyler of Virginia, and Polk of Tennessee.

Louisiana Taylor sent; New York Millard Fillmore;

New Hampshire gave us Franklin Pierce; when his term was o'er

The keystone state Buchanan sent. War thunders shook the realm

Abe Lincoln wore a martyr's crown, and Johnson took the helm.

Then U.S. Grant of Illinois who ruled with sword and pen;

And Hayes, and Garfield who was shot, two noble Buckeye men.

Chester Arthur from New York, and Grover Cleveland came;

Ben Harrison served just four years, then Cleveland ruled again.

McKinley—shot at Buffalo—the nation plunged in grief,

And "Teddy" Roosevelt of New York served seven years as chief.

Taft of Ohio followed him. Then Woodrow Wilson came—

New Jersey's learned Democrat; war set the world aflame;

And when the tide of strife and hate its baneful course had run,

The country went Republican and Warren Harding won.

No duty would he shirk,—he died while on a western trip;

Coolidge of Massachusetts then assumed the leadership.

Isabel Ambler Gilman.

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Annie and Willie's Prayer

'Twas the eve before Christmas; "Good night" had been said,

And Annie and Willie had crept into bed;

There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes,

And each little bosom was heaving with sighs,

For to-night their stern father's command had been given

That they should retire precisely at seven

Instead of at eight; for they troubled him more

With questions unheard of than ever before;

He had told them he thought this delusion a sin,

No such being as Santa Claus ever had been,

And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear

How he scrambled down chimneys with presents, each year,

And this was the reason that two little heads

So restlessly tossed on their soft downy beds.

Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten;

Not a word had been spoken by either till then;

When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep,

And whispered, "Dear Annie, is oo fast asleep?"

"Why, no, brother Willie," a sweet voice replies,

"I've tried it in vain, but I can't shut my eyes;

For somehow, it makes me so sorry because

Dear papa has said there is no Santa Claus;

Now we know there is, and it can't be denied,

For he came every year before mamma died;

But then I've been thinking that she used to pray,

And God would hear everything mamma would say;

And perhaps she asked him to send Santa Claus here

With the sacks full of presents he brought every year."

"Well, why tant we pray dest as mamma did then,

And ask Him to send him with presents aden?"

"I've been thinking so, too," and, without a word more,

Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor,

And four little knees the soft carpet pressed,

And two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast.

"Now, Willie, you know we must firmly believe

That the presents we ask for we're sure to receive;

You must wait just as still till I say the 'Amen,'

And by that you will know that your turn has come then.

Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me.

And grant as the favor we are asking of Thee!

I want a wax dolly, a tea-set and ring,

And an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring.

Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see

That Santa Claus loves us far better than he;

Don't let him get fretful and angry again

At dear brother Willie, and Annie, Amen!"

"Peas Desus 'et Santa Taus tum down to-night,

And bing us some pesents before it is 'ight;

I want he should div me a nice ittle sed,

With bight, shiny unners, and all painted yed;

A box full of tandy, a book and a toy—

Amen—and then Desus, I'll be a dood boy."

Their prayers being ended they raised up their heads,

And with hearts light and cheerful again sought their beds;

They were soon lost in slumber both peaceful and deep,

And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep.

Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck ten

Ere the father had thought of his children again;

He seems now to hear Annie's half suppressed sighs,

And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes.

"I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said,

"And should not have sent them so early to bed;

But then I was troubled,—my feelings found vent,

For bank-stock to-day has gone down ten per cent.

But of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this,

And that I denied them the thrice asked-for kiss;

But just to make sure I'll steal up to their door,

For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before."

So saying, he softly ascended the stairs,

And arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers.

His Annie's "bless papa" draws forth the big tears,

And Willie's grave promise falls sweet on his ears.

"Strange, strange I'd forgotten," said he with a sigh,

"How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh.

I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said,

"By answering their prayers, ere I sleep in my bed."

Then he turned to the stairs, and softly went down,

Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing-gown;

Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street,

A millionaire facing the cold driving sleet,

Nor stopped he until he had bought everything,

From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring.

Indeed he kept adding so much to his store

That the various presents outnumbered a score;

Then homeward he turned with his holiday load

And with Aunt Mary's aid in the nursery 'twas stowed.

Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine-tree,

By the side of a table spread out for a tea;

A work-box well filled in the centre was laid,

And on it the ring for which Annie had prayed;

A soldier in uniform stood by a sled

With bright shining runners, and all painted red;

There were balls, dogs and horses, books pleasing to see,

And birds of all colors—were perched in the tree,

While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top,

As if getting ready more presents to drop.

And as the fond father the picture surveyed,

He thought for his trouble he had amply been paid;

And he said to himself as he brushed off a tear,

"I'm happier to-night than I've been for a year,

I've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before—

What care I if bank-stocks fall ten per cent more.

Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe,

To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas eve."

So thinking he gently extinguished the light,

And tripped down the stairs to retire for the night.

As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun

Put the darkness to flight, and the stars, one by one,

Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide,

And at the same moment the presents espied;

Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound,

And the very gifts prayed for were all of them found;

They laughed and they cried in their innocent glee,

And shouted for papa to come quick and see

What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night

(Just the things that they wanted) and left before light;

"And now," added Annie, in a voice soft and low,

"You'll believe there's a Santa, Clans, papa, I know";

While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee,

Determined no secret between them should be,

And told in soft whispers how Annie had said

That their blessed mamma, so long ago dead,

Used to kneel down and pray by the side of her chair,

And that God, up in heaven, had answered her prayer!

"Then we dot up, and payed dust as well as we tould,

And Dod answered our payers; now wasn't he dood?"

"I should say that he was if he sent you all these,

And knew just what presents my children would please.

Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf,

'Twould be cruel to tell him I did it myself."

Blind father! who caused your proud heart to relent,

And the hasty word spoken so soon to repent?

'Twas the Being who made you steal softly upstairs,

And made you His agent to answer their prayers.

Sophia P. Snow.

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