The Holidays

The Holidays

Once again, once again,

Christmas wreaths are twining:

Once again, once again,

Mistletoe is shining.

Time is marching through the land,

Decked with leaf and berry;

He leads the Old Year in his hand,

But both the churls are merry.

He speaketh in the clanging bells,

He shouts at every portal;

God speed the tidings that he tells--

"Good-will and peace to mortal."

Gladly welcome shall he be,

Even though he traces

Silver threads upon our heads

And wrinkles on our faces.

For once again, once again,

He brings the happy meeting;

Whence cynic lips may preach in vain

That life is sad and fleeting.

Christmas logs should beacon back

The wanderer from his roving;

Leave, oh! leave the world's wide track,

And join the loved and loving.

Spirits that have dwelt apart,

Cold with pride and folly,

Bring olive in your hand and heart

To weave with Christmas holly.

by Eliza Cook, 1890