Silent Night.

Vintage sheet music of "Silent Night" lyrics included, CC.

      "Silent Night" (German: Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht) is a popular Christmas carol, composed in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber to lyrics by Joseph Mohr in the small town of Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria. It was declared an intangible cultural heritage by the UNESCO in March 2011. The song has been recorded by a large number of singers from every music genre.

      The song was first performed on Christmas Eve 1818 at the St Nicholas parish church in Oberndorf, a village on the Salzach river. The young priest, Father Joseph Mohr, had come to Oberndorf the year before. He had already written the lyrics of the song "Stille Nacht" in 1816 at Mariapfarr, the hometown of his father in the Salzburg Lungau region, where Joseph had worked as a coadjutor.

      The melody was composed by Franz Xaver Gruber, schoolmaster and organist in the nearby village of Arnsdorf. Before Christmas Eve, Mohr brought the words to Gruber and asked him to compose a melody and guitar accompaniment for the church service. Both performed the carol during the mass on the night of December 24.

      The original manuscript has been lost. However a manuscript was discovered in 1995 in Mohr's handwriting and dated by researchers at ca. 1820. It shows that Mohr wrote the words in 1816 when he was assigned to a pilgrim church in Mariapfarr, Austria, and shows that the music was composed by Gruber in 1818. This is the earliest manuscript that exists and the only one in Mohr's handwriting.

 

Lyrics for Silent Night
Silent night! holy night!

All is calm, all is bright.

'Round yon Virgin Mother and Child,

Holy Infant so tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night! holy night!

Shepherds quake at the sight!

Glories stream from heaven afar,

Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia;

Christ the Savior is born.

Christ the Savior is born.

Silent night! holy night!

Son of God, love's pure light

Radiant beams from Thy holy face,

With the dawn of redeeming grace,

Jesus, Lord at Thy birth.

Jesus, Lord at Thy birth.

More Lovely Versions of "Silent Night":

• A Hawaiian Version featuring Amy Hanaiali'i, John Cruz, Kapena, Lehua Kalima, Obrian Eselu and Afatia Thompson
• It's a Soweto Silent Night
• Vienna Boys Choir - Stille Nacht
• The Temptations - Silent Night Montage

Mary Inside the Diorama

Mary seated in prayer, admires her baby, Jesus.

       "Mary, the mother. of the infant Jesus, is shown in the fifth picture to be used in making a Christmas Crib.

       Color the figure, paste it on cardboard and cut it out. Because of many of the great painters of the past have painted this scene, we usually think of Mary wearing a cloak of rich deep blue over a red gown. But this is a artistic choice. Mary probably dressed in natural earth colors common to her people at the time. In either case, you may color her robes however you prefer."

One of the great Christmas hymns is "Silent Night." -

Silent night, holy night! All is calm, all is bright

'Round yon Virgin Mother and Child. Holy infant so

tender and mild,

Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace.

Back or Next To Last Paper Figure.

The Legend of The Christ Child

        I want to tell you to-night a story which has been told to little children in Germany for many hundreds of years...

       Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, on the night before Christmas, a little child was wandering all alone through the streets of a great city. There were many people on the street, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, uncles and aunts, and even gray-haired grandfathers and grandmothers, all of whom were hurrying home with bundles of presents for each other and their little ones. Fine carriages rolled by, express wagons rattled past, even old carts were pressed into service, and all things seemed in a hurry and glad with expectation of the coming Christmas morning.

       From some of the windows bright lights were already beginning to stream until it was almost as bright as day. But the little child seemed to have no home and wandered about listlessly from street to street. No one seemed to notice him, except perhaps Jack Frost, who bit his bare toes and made the ends of his fingers tingle. The north wind, too, seemed to notice the child, for it blew against him and pierced his ragged garments through and through, causing him to shiver with cold. Home after home he passed, looking with longing eyes through the windows, in upon the glad, happy children, most of whom were helping to trim the Christmas trees for the coming morrow.

       "Surely," said the child to himself, " Where there is so much gladness and happiness, some of it may be for me." So with timid steps he approached a large and handsome house. Through the windows he could see a tall and stately Christmas tree already lighted. Many presents hung upon it. Its green boughs were trimmed with gold and silver ornaments. Slowly he climbed up the broad steps and gently rapped at the door. It was opened by a tall and stately footman, who had on white gloves and shiny shoes and a large white cravat. He looked at the little child for a moment, then sadly shook his head and said, " Go down off the steps. There is no room for such as you here." He looked sorry as he spoke; possibly he remembered his own little ones at home, and was glad that they were not out in this cold and bitter night. Through the open door a bright light shone, and the warm air, filled with the fragrance of the Christmas pine, rushed out through the door and seemed to greet the little wanderer with a kiss. As the child turned back into the cold and darkness, he wondered why the footman had spoken so, for surely, thought he, those little children would love to have another companion join them in their joyous Christmas festival. But the little children inside did not even know that he had knocked at the door.

       The street seemed colder and darker to the child than before, and he went sadly forward, saying to himself," Is there no one in all this great city who will share this Christmas with me?" Farther and farther down the street he went, to where the homes were not so large and beautiful. There seemed to be little children inside of nearly all the houses. They were dancing and frolicking about. There were Christmas trees in nearly every window, with beautiful dolls and trumpets and picture books, and balls, and tops, and other nice toys hung upon them. In one window the child noticed a little lamb made of soft white wool. Around its neck was tied a red ribbon. It had evidently been hung on the tree for one of the children. The little wanderer stopped before this window and looked long and earnestly at the beautiful things inside, but most of all was he drawn towards this white lamb. At last, creeping up to the window pane he gently tapped upon it. A little girl came to the window and looked out into the dark street where the snow had now begun to fall. She saw the child, but she only frowned and shook her head and said, " Go away and come some other time. We are too busy to take care of you now." Back into the dark, cold street he turned again. The wind was whirling past him and seemed to say," Hurry on, hurry on, we have no time to stop. 'Tis Christmas eve and everybody is in a hurry to-night."

       Again and again the little child rapped softly at door, or window pane. At each place he was refused admission. One mother feared he might have some ugly disease which her darlings would catch; another father said he had only enough for his own children, and none to spare for beggar brats. Still another told him to go home where he belonged, and not to trouble other folks.

       The hours passed; later grew the night, and colder blew the wind, and darker seemed the street. Farther and farther the little one wandered. There was scarcely anyone left upon the street by this time, and the few who remained did not seem to see the child, when suddenly ahead of him there appeared a bright, single ray of light. It shone through the darkness into the child's eyes. He looked up smiling and said, " I will go where the little light beckons, perhaps they will share their Christmas with me."

       Hurrying past all the other houses he soon reached the end of the street and went straight up to the window from which the light was streaming. It was a poor, little, low house, but the child cared not for that. The light seemed still to call him in. What do you suppose the light came from? Nothing but a tallow candle which had been placed in an old cup with a broken handle, in the window, as a glad token of Christmas eve. There was neither curtain nor shade to the little square window, and as the little child looked in he saw standing upon a small wooden table a branch of a Christmas tree. The room was plainly furnished, but was very clean. Near the fire-place sat a lovely faced mother with a little two-year old on her knee and an older child beside her. The two children were looking into their mother's face and listening to a story. She must have been telling them a Christmas story, I think. A few bright coals were burning in the fire-place, and all seemed light and warm within.

       The little wanderer crept closer and closer to the window pane. So sweet seemed the mother's face, so loving seemed the little children, that at last he took courage and tapped gently, very gently, on the door. The mother stopped talking, the little children looked up. "What was that mother?" asked the little girl at her side. "I think it was some one tapping on the door," replied the mother. '"Run as quickly as you can and open it, dear, for it is a bitter cold night to keep any one waiting in this storm." "Oh, mother, I think it was the bough of the tree tapping against the window pane," said the little girl, "Do please go on with our story." Again the little wanderer tapped upon the door. "My child, my child," exclaimed the mother rising, "That certainly was a rap on the door. "Run quickly and open it. No one must be left out in the cold on our beautiful Christmas eve."

       The child ran to the door and threw it wide open. The mother saw the ragged stranger standing without, cold and shivering, with bare head and almost bare feet. She held out both hands and drew him into the warm bright room. "Oh, you poor, dear child, come in as quickly as you can, and get warm! Where did you come from, and where are you going? Have you no home? Have you no mamma? Have you no Christmas to celebrate.

       The mother put her arms around the strange child, and drew him close to her breast. "He is very cold, my children," said she. "We must warm him and feed him, and give him some clothes." "And," added the little girl, "we must love him and give some of our Christmas, too." "Yes," said the mother, "but first let us warm him."

       So she sat down beside the fire with the child on her lap, and her own two little ones warmed his half-frozen hands in their own, and the mother smoothed his tangled curls, and bending low over his head, kissed the child's face. She gathered the three little ones together in her arms and the candle and the firelight shone over them, and for a few moments the room was very still. Then the mother whispered to the little girl, and the child ran (quickly into the next room and soon returned with a roll of bread and a bowl of milk which had been set aside for her own breakfast the next morning.

       The little two-year-old, who had slipped away from his mother's side, was happy that he, too, could help the little stranger by bringing the wooden spoon from the table. By and by the little girl said softly to her mother, " May we not light the Christmas tree, and let this little child see how beautiful it will look?" "Yes," said the mother. With that she seated the child on a low stool beside the fire, and went herself to fetch the few simple ornaments which from year to year she had saved for her children's Christmas trees. They were soon busy preparing the tree and lighting the candles. So busy were they that they did not notice that the room had filled with a strange and beautiful light. They turned and looked at the spot where the little wanderer sat. His ragged clothes had changed to garments white and beautiful. His tangled curls seemed like a halo of golden light about his head, but most beautiful of all was his face, which shone with a light so dazzling that they could scarcely look upon it.

      In silent wonder they gazed at the child. Their little room seemed to grow larger, the roof of their low house seemed to expand and rise, until it reached the sky. With a sweet and gentle smile the beautiful child looked upon them for a moment and then slowly rose and floated through the air, above the tree tops, beyond the church spire, higher even than the clouds themselves, until he appeared to them to be a shining star in the sky above, and at last he disappeared from sight. . The wondering children turned in hushed awe to their mother and said in a whisper, " Oh, mother, it was the Christ Child, was it not?" And the mother said in a low tone, " Yes."

       And so, they say, each Christmas Eve the little Christ Child wanders through some town or village, and those who receive him and take him into their homes and hearts have given to them this marvelous vision which is denied to others. Translated by Elizabeth Harrison from German

"Silent Night" is a popular Christmas carol, composed in 1818 by Franz Xaver Gruber to lyrics by Joseph Mohr in the small town of Oberndorf bei Salzburg, Austria.''

Somewhere in your silent days and nights...

Christian animations by kathy grimm

"And  the  Word  became  flesh,  and  dwelt  among  us  and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." John  1: 14.

"If  The  belief  in  the  Divinity  of  Christ  is  waning  among  us. They  who  hold  it  have  petrified  it  into  a  theological  dogma  without life  or  warmth,  and  thoughtful  men  are  more  and  more  beginning to  put  it  aside.  How  are  we  then  to  get  back  this  belief  in  the Son  of  God - by  authority  or  by  the  old  way  of  persecution?" Holland

       The  time  for  these  has  passed.  The  other  way  is  to  begin  at the  beginning.  Begin  as  the  Bible  begins,  with  Christ  the  Son of  Man.  Begin  with  Him  as  God's  character  revealed  under  the limitations  of  humanity.  Lay  the  foundations  of  a  higher  faith deeply  in  a  belief  of  His  Humanity.  See  Him  as  He  was. Breathe  His  spirit.  After  that,  try  to  comprehend  His  Life. Enter  into  His  Childhood.  Feel  with  Him  when  He  looked round  about  Him  in  anger,  when  He  vindicated  the  crushed woman  from  the  powerless  venom  of  her  ferocious  accusers; - when  He  stood  alone  in  the  solitary  Majesty  of  Truth  in  Pilate's judgment-hall;  when  the  light  of  the  Roman  soldiers'  torches flashed  on  Kedron  in  the  dark  night,  and  He  knew  that  watching was  too  late;  when  His  heart-strings  gave  way  upon  the  Cross. Walk  with  Him  through  the  Marriage  Feast.  See  how  the  sick and  weary  came  to  Him  instinctively;  how  men,  when  they  saw Him,  felt  their  sin,  they  knew  not  why,  and  fell  at  His  feet; how  guilt  unconsciously  revealed  itself,  and  all  that  was  good  in men  was  drawn  out,  and  they  became  higher  than  themselves  in His  presence.  Realize  this.  Live  with  Him  till  He  becomes  a living  thought - ever  present - and  you  will  find  a  reverence growing  up  which  compares  with  nothing  else  in  human  feeling. You  will  feel  that  a  slighting  word  spoken  of  Him  wounds  with a  dart  more  sharp  than  personal  insult.  You  will  feel  that  to bow  at  the  name  of  Jesus  is  no  form  at  will  of  others,  but  a relief  and  welcome.  And  if  it  should  ever  chance  that,  finding yourself  thrown  upon  your  own  self,  and  cut  off  from  sects - suspected,  in  quest  of  a  truth  which  no  man  gives, - then  that wondrous  sense  of  strength  and  friendship  comes,  the  being alone  with  Christ,  with  the  strength of  a  manlier  independence. Slowly  then,  this  almost  insensibly  merges  into  adoration.  For what  is  it  to  adore  Christ ?  To  call  Him  God ;  to  say  Lord, Lord?  No.  Adoration  is  the  mightiest love  the  soul  can  give - call  it  by  what  name  you  will. Hastings

"Somewhere in Your Silent Night" by Casting Crowns

"Silent Night" Clip Art

Description of Illustration: Nativity, angels, Mary Mother of Jesus, manger, Holy Ghost Dove, Hand of God The Father, stained glass, text "Christ The Savior Is Born", black background

A Visit to Bethlehem In Spirit

A Visit to Bethlehem In Spirit

by James Montgommery

The scene around me disappears,

And, borne to ancient regions,

While time recalls the flight of years,

I see angelic legions

Descending in an orb of light:

Amidst the dark and silent night

I hear celestial voices.

"Tidings, glad tidings from above

To every age and nation!

Tidings, glad tidings! God is love,

To man he sends salvation!

His Son beloved, his only Son,

The work of mercy hath begun;

Give to his name the glory!" 

Through David's city I am led;

Here all around are sleeping;

A light directs to yon poor shed;

There lonely watch is keeping:

I enter; ah, what glories shine!

Is this Immanuel's earthly shrine,

Messiah's infant temple?

It is, it is; and I adore

This Stranger meek and lowly,

As saints and angels bow before

The throne of God thrice holy!

Faith through the veil of flesh can see

The face of thy divinity,

My Lord, my God, my Savior!

The Three Kings

 The Three Kings

Three Kings come riding from far away,

Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;

Three Wise Men out of the East were they,

And they travelled by night and they slept

by day,

For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful

star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,

That all the other stars of the sky

Became a white mist in the atmosphere;

And by this they knew that the coming was

near

Of the Prince fortold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,

Three caskets of gold with golden keys;

Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows

Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,

Their turbans like blossoming almond-

trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,

Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell,

And sometimes they nodded with beard on

breast,

And sometimes talked, as they paused to

rest,

With the people they met at some wayside

well.

"Of the child that is born," said Baltasar,

"Good people, I pray you, tell us

the news,

For we in the East have seen his star,

And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,

To find and worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered, "You ask in vain;

We know of no king but Herod the Great!"

They thought the Wise Men were men

insane,

As they spurred their horses across the plain

Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,

Herod the Great, who had heard this

thing,

Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;

And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem,

And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away, and the star stood still,

The only one in the gray of morn;

Yes, it stopped,--it stood still of it's own

free will,

Right over Bethlehem on the hill,

The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate

and the guard,

Through the silent street, till their horses

turned

And neighed as they entered the great

inn-yard;

But the windows were closed, and the doors

were barred,

And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,

In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,

The little child in the manger lay,

The Child that would be King one day

Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,

Sat watching beside his place of rest,

Watching the even flow of his breath,

For the joy of life and the terror of death

Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:

The gold was their tribute to a King;

The frankincense, with its odor sweet,

Was for the Priest, the Paraclete;

The myrrh for the body's buring.

And the mother wondered and bowed her

head,

And sat as still as a statue of stone;

Her heart was troubled yet comforted,

Remembering what the Angel had said

Of an enless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,

With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;

But they went not back to Herod the Great,

For they knew his malice and feared his hate,

And returned to their homes by another

way.

Henery Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

The Polar Express

book jacket

       The Polar Express is a 1985 children's book written and illustrated by Chris Van Allsburg, a former professor at the Rhode Island School of Design. The book is now widely considered to be a classic Christmas story for young children. It was praised for its detailed illustrations and calm, relaxing storyline. In 1986, it was awarded the Caldecott Medal for children's literature. Based on a 2007 online poll, the National Education Association named the book one of its "Teachers' Top 100 Books for Children." It was one of the "Top 100 Picture Books" of all time in a 2012 poll by School Library Journal.
       As the story starts off, a young boy, who used to adore Christmas, hears a train whistle roar. To his astonishment, he finds the train is waiting for him. He sees a conductor who then proceeds to look up at his window. He runs downstairs and goes outside. The conductor explains the train is called the Polar Express, and is journeying to the North Pole. The boy then boards the train, which is filled with chocolate and candy, as well as many other children in their pajamas.
       As the train reaches the North Pole, the boy and the other children see thousands of Christmas elves gathered at the center of town waiting to send Santa Claus on his way. The boy is handpicked by Santa to receive the first gift of Christmas. Realizing that he could choose anything in the world, the boy asks for one bell from one of the reindeer's harnesses. The boy places the bell in the pocket of his robe and all the children watch as Santa takes off into the night for his annual deliveries.
       Later, on the train ride home, the boy discovers that the bell has fallen through a hole in his pocket. The boy arrives home and goes to his bedroom as the train pulls away. On Christmas morning, his sister finds a small package for the boy under the tree, behind all of the other gifts. The boy opens the box and discovers that it is the bell, delivered by Santa who found it on the seat of his sleigh. When the boy rings the bell, both he and his sister marvel at the beautiful sound. His parents, however, are unable to hear the bell and remark that it must be broken. The book ends with a famous quote, also promoted to the film based on it:

'At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.'

       The Polar Express is also a 2004 motion capture computer-animated fantasy film based on the children's book of the same title by Chris Van Allsburg. Written, produced, and directed by Robert Zemeckis, the film featured human characters animated using live action performance capture technique, with the exception of the waiters who dispense hot chocolate on the train, because their feats were impossible for live actors to achieve. The 21st century technology used incorporated the movements of live actors into three-dimensional animation. The film stars Daryl Sabara, Nona Gaye, Jimmy Bennett, and Eddie Deezen, with Tom Hanks in six distinct roles. The film also included a performance by Tinashe at age 9, who later gained exposure as a pop singer in 2010, as the CGI-model for female protagonist. The film was produced by Castle Rock Entertainment in association with Shangri-La Entertainment, ImageMovers, Playtone and Golden Mean, for Warner Bros. Pictures. The visual effects and performance capture were done at Sony Pictures Imageworks. The studio first released the $165 million film in both conventional and IMAX 3D theaters on November 10, 2004. The Polar Express is listed in the Guinness World Book of Records in 2006 as the first all-digital capture film. Read more . . . 

Christmas-Land

I wonder where the railroad starts

That runs to Christmas-land?

And do excursion tickets cost

More than a boy can stand?

If I had time and money, too,

I'd start to travel, and

I'd wander up and down till I

Had found the Christmas-land.

I wonder if good Santa Claus

Would leave a map for me.

I'd like to figure out how long

A voyage it would be.

 

More Related Links: 

• The Polar Express Rail Events Inc.
• Houghton Mifflin Company: The Polar Express 
• The Polar Express - Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad 
• Chris Van Allsburg
  

Joel's Talk With Santa Claus

Santa speaks with Joel.

 

      ONE Christmas eve Joel Baker was in a most unhappy mood. He was lonesome and miserable; the chimes making merry Christmas music outside disturbed rather than soothed him, the jingle of the sleigh-bells fretted him, and the shrill whistling of the wind around the corners of the house and up and down the chimney seemed to grate harshly on his ears.

      "Humph," said Joel, wearily, "Christmas is nothin' to me; there was a time when it meant a great deal, but that was long ago-- fifty years is a long stretch to look back over. There is nothin' in Christmas now, nothin' for me at least; it is so long since Santa Claus remembered me that I venture to say he has forgotten that there ever was such a person as Joel Baker in all the world. It used to be different; Santa Claus used to think a great deal of me when I was a boy. Ah! Christmas nowadays ain't what it was in the good old time -- no, not what it used to be."

      As Joel was absorbed in his distressing thoughts he became aware very suddenly that somebody was entering or trying to enter the room. First came a draught of cold air, then a scraping, grating sound, then a strange shuffling, and then, --yes, then, all at once, Joel saw a pair of fat legs and a still fatter body dangle down the chimney, followed presently by a long white beard, above which appeared a jolly red nose and two bright twinkling eyes, while over the head and forehead was drawn a fur cap, white with snowflakes.

      "Ha, ha," chuckled the fat, jolly stranger, emerging from the chimney and standing well to one side of the hearth-stone; "ha, ha, they don't have the big, wide chimneys they used to build, but they can't keep Santa Claus out! Ha, ha, ha. Though the chimney were no bigger than a gas pipe, Santa Claus would slide down it!"

      It didn't require a second glance to assure Joel that the new-comer was indeed Santa Claus. Joel knew the good old saint -- oh, yes -- and he had seen him once before, and , although that was when Joel was a little boy, he had never forgotten how Santa Claus looked. Nor had Santa Claus forgotten Joel, although Joel thought he had; for now Santa Claus looked kindly at Joel and smiled and said: "Merry Christmas to you, Joel!"

     "Thank you, old Santa Claus," replied Joel, "but I don't believe it's going to be a very merry Christmas. It's been so long since I've had a merry Christmas that I don't believe I'd know how to act if I had one."

      "Let's see," said Santa Claus, "it must be going on fifty years since I saw you last -- yes, you were eight years old the last time I slipped down the chimney of the old homestead and filled your stocking. Do you remember it?"

      "I remember it well," answered Joel. "I had mad up my mind to lie awake and see Santa Claus; I had heard tell of you, but I'd never seen you, and Brother Otis and I concluded we'd lie awake and watch for you to come."

      Santa Claus shook his head reproachfully. "That was very wrong," said he, "for I'm so scarey that if I'd known you boys were awake I'd never have come down the chimney at all, and then you'd have had no presents."

      "But Otis couldn't keep awake," explained Joel. "We talked about everythin' we could think of, till father called out to us that if we didn't stop talking he'd have to send one of us up into the attic to sleep with the hired man. So in less than five minutes Otis was sound asleep and no pinching could wake him up. But I was bound to see Santa Claus and I don't believe anything would've put me to sleep. I heard the big clock in the sitting-room strike eleven, and I had begun wonderin' if you never were going to come, when all of a sudden I heard the tinkle of the the bells around your reindeer's necks. Then I heard the reindeers prancin' on the roof and the sound of your sleigh-runners cuttin' and through the crust and slippin' over the shingles. I was kind o' scared and I covered my head up with the sheet and quilts -- only I left a little hole so I could peek out and see what was goin' on. As soon as I saw you I got over bein' scared -- for you were jolly and smilin' like, and you chuckled as you went around to each stockin' and filled it up."

      "Yes, I can remember the night," said Santa Claus. "I brought you a sled, didn't I?"

      "Yes, and you brought Otis one, too," replied Joel. "Mine was red and had 'Yankee Doodle' painted in black letters on the side; Otis's was black and had 'Snow Queen' in gilt letters."

      "I remember those sleds distinctly," said Santa Claus, "for I made them specially for you boys."

      "You set the sleds up against the wall," continued Joel, "and then you filled the stockin's."

      "There were six of 'em, as I recollect?" said Santa Claus.

      "Let me see," quired Joel. "There was mine, and Otis's, and Elvira's and Thankful's, and Susan Prickett's -- Susan was our help, you know. No, that were only five, and, as I remember, they were the biggest we could beg or borrer of Aunt Dorcas, who weighed nigh unto two hundred pounds. Otis and I didn't like Susan Prickett, and we were hopin' you'd put a cold potato in her stockin'."

      "But Susan was a good girl," remonstrated Santa Claus. "You know I put cold potatoes only in the stockin's of boys and girls who are bad and don't believe in Santa Claus."

      "At any rate," said Joel, "you filled all the stockin's with candy and pop-corn balls before you got around. Then you left each of us a book. Elvira got the best one, which was 'The Garland of Frien'ship,' and had poems in it about the bleeding of hearts, and so forth. Father wasn't expectin' anything, but you left him a new pair of mittens, and mother got a new fur boa to wear to meetin'."

      "Of course," said Santa Claus, "I never forgot father and mother."

      "Well, it was as much as I could do to lay still," continued Joel, "for I'd been longin' for a sled, an' the sight of that red sled with 'Yankee Doodle' painted on it jest made me wild. But, somehow or other, I began to get powerful sleepy all at once, and I couldn't keep my eyes open. The next thing I knew Otis was nudgin' me in the ribs. 'Git up, Joel,' says he; 'it's Chri'mas an' Santa Claus has been here.' 'Merry Chris'mas! Merry Chris'mas!' we cried as we tumbled out o' bed. Then Elvira an' Thankful came in, not more 'n half dressed, and Susan came in, too, an' we just made Rome howl with 'Merry Chris'mas! Merry Chris'mas!' to each other. 'Ef you children don't make less noise in there,' cried father, 'I'll hev to send you all back to bed.' The idea of askin' boys an' girls to keep quiet on Chris'mas mornin' when they've got new sleds an' 'Garlands of Frien'ship'!"

      Santa Claus chuckled; his rosy cheeks fairly beamed joy.

      "Otis an' I didn't want any breakfast," said Joel. "We made up our minds that a stockin'ful of candy and pop-corn and raisins would stay us for a while. I do believe there wasn't buckwheat cakes enough in the township to keep us indoors that mornin'; buckwheat cakes don't size up much 'longside of a red sled with 'Yankee Doodle' painted onto it and a black sled named 'Snow Queen.' We didn't care how cold it was -- so much the better for slidin' downhill! All the boys had new sleds -- Lafe Dawson, Bill Holbrook, Gum Adams, Rube Playford, Leander Merrick, Ezra Purple -- all on 'em had new sleds excep' Martin Peavey, and he said he calculated Santa Claus had skipped him this year 'cause his father had broke his leg haulin' logs from the Pelham woods and had been kep' in-doors six weeks. But Martin had his ol' sled, and he didn't hev to ask any odds of any of us, neither."

      "I brought Martin a sled the next Christmas," said Santa Claus.

      "Like as not-- but did you ever slide down-hill, Santa Claus? I don't mean such hills as they hev out here in this new country, but one of them old-fashioned New England hills that was made 'specially for boys to slide down, full of bumpers an' thank-ye-marms, and about ten times longer comin' up than it is goin' down! The wind blew in our faces, jist as if it was a boy, too, an' wanted to play with us. An ol' crow came flappin' over us from the cornfield beyond the meadow. He said: 'Caw, caw,' when he saw my new sled --I s'pose he'd never seen a red one before. Otis had a hard time with his sled -- the black one -- an' he wondered why it wouldn't go as fast as mine would. 'Hev you scraped the paint off'n the runners? asked Wralsey Goodnow. 'Course I hev,' said Otis; 'broke my own knife an' Lute Ingraham's a-doin' it, but it don't seem to make no dif'rence -- the darned ol' thing won't go!' Then, what did Simon Buzzell say but that, like's not, it was because Otis's sled's name was 'Snow Queen.' 'Never did see a girl sled that was worth a cent, anyway,' sez Simon. Well, now, that jest about broke Otis up in business. 'It ain't a girl sled,' sez he, 'and its name ain't "Snow Queen"! I'm a-goin' to call it "Dan'l Webster," or "Ol'ver Optic," or "Sheriff Robbins," or after some other big man!' An' the boys plagued him so much about that pesky girl sled that he scratched off the name, an', as I remember, it did go better after that!

      "About the only thing," continued Joel, "that marred the harmony of the occasion as the editor of the Hampshire County Phoenex used to say, was the ashes that Deacon Morris Frisbie sprinkled out in front of his house. He said he wasn't going to have folks breakin' their necks jest on account of a lot of frivolous boys that was goin' to the gallows as fas' as they could! Oh, how we hated him! and we'd have snowballed him, too, if we hadn't been afraid of the constable that lived next door. But the ashes didn't bother us much, and every time we slid side-saddle we'd give the ashes a kick, and that sort of scattered 'em."

      The bare thought of this made Santa Claus laugh.

      "Goin' on about nine o'clock," said Joel, "the girls come along -- Sister Elvira an' Thankful, Prudence Tucker, Belle Yocum, Sophrone Holbrook, Sis Hubbard, an' Marthy Sawyer. Marthy's brother Increase wanted her to ride on his sled, but Marthy allowed that a red sled was her choice every time. 'I don't see how I'm goin' to hold on,' said Marthy. 'Seems as if I would hev my hands full keepin' my things from blowin' away.' 'Don't worry about yourself, Marthy,' sez I, 'for if you'll look after your things, I kind o' calc'late I'll manage not to lose you on the way.' Dear Marthy-- seems as if I could see you now, with your tangled hair a blowin' in the wind, your eyes all bright and sparklin', an' your cheeks as red as apples. Seems, too, as if I could hear you laughin' an' a-callin', jist as you did as I toiled up the old New England hill that Chris'mas mornin'-- a-callin': 'Joel, Joel, Joel-- ain't ye ever comin', Joel?' But the hill is long and steep, Marthy, an Joel ain't the boy he used to be; he's old, an' gray, an' feeble, but there's love an' faith in his heart, an' they kind o'keep him totterin' tow'rd the voice he hears a-callin': 'Joel, Joel, Joel!'"

      "I know -- I see it all," murmured Santa Claus very softly.

      "Oh, that was so long ago," sighed Joel; "so very long ago! And I've had no Chris'mas since -- only once, when our little one -- Marthy's an' mine -- you remember him, Santa Claus?"

      "Yes," said Santa Claus, "a toddling little boy with blue eyes--"

      "Like his mother," interrupted Joel; "an' he was like her, too-- so gentle an' lovin', only we called him Joel, for that was my father's name and it kind o' run in the fam'ly. He wa'n't more'n three years old when you came with your Chris'mas presents for him, Santa Claus. We had told him about you, and he used to go to the chimney every night and make a little prayer about what he wanted you to bring him. And you brought 'em, too -- a stick-horse, an' a picture-book, an' some blocks, an' a drum-- they're on the shelf in the closet there, and his little Chris'mas stockin' with 'em--I've saved 'em all, an' I 've taken 'em down an' held 'em in my hands, oh, many times!"

      "But when I came again," said Santa Claus------

      "His little bed was empty, an' I was alone. It killed his mother--Marthy was so tenderhearted; she kind o' drooped an' pined after that. So now they've been asleep side by side in the buryin'-ground these thirty years.

      "That's why I'm so sad-like whenever Chris'mas comes." said Joel, after a pause. "The thinkin' of long ago makes me bitter almost. It's so different now from what it used to be."

      "No, Joel, oh, no," said Santa Claus. "'Tis the same world, and human nature is the same and always will be. But Christmas is for the little folks, and you, who are old and grizzled now, must know it and love it only through the gladness it brings the little ones."

      "True groaned Joel; "but how may I know and feel this gladness when I have no little stocking hanging in my chimney corner -- no child to please me with his prattle? See, I am alone."

      "No, you're not alone, Joel," said Santa Claus. "There are children in this great city who would love and bless you for your goodness if you but touched their hearts. Make them happy, Joel; send by me this night some gift to the little boy in the old house yonder -- he is poor and sick; a simple toy will fill his Christmas with gladness."

      "His little sister, too-- take her some presents," said Joel; "make them happy for me, Santa Claus-- you are right -- make them happy for me."

      How sweetly Joel slept! When he awoke, the sunlight streamed in through the window and seemed to bid him a merry Christmas. How contented and happy Joel felt! It must have been the talk with Santa Claus that did it all; he had never known a sweeter sense of peace. A little girl came out of the house over the way. She had a new doll in her arms, and she sang a merry little song and she laughed with joy as she skipped along the street. Ay, and at the window sat the little sick boy, and the toy Santa Claus left him seemed to have brought him strength and health, for his eyes sparkled and his cheeks glowed, and it was plain to see his heart was full of happiness.

      And oh! how the chimes did ring out, and how joyfully they sang their Christmas carol that morning! They sang of Bethlehem and the manger and the Babe; they sang of love and charity, till all the Christmas air seemed full of angel voices.

   Carol of the Christmas morn--

   Carol of the Christ-child born--

   Carol to the list'ning sky

   Till it echoes back again

   "Glory be to God on high,

   Peace on earth, good will tow'rd men!"

      So all this music -- the carol of the chimes, the sound of children's voices, the smile of the poor little boy over the way -- all this sweet music crept into Joel's heart that Christmas morning; yes, and with these sweet, holy influences came others so subtile and divine that in its silent communion with them, Joel's heart cried out amen and amen to the glory of the Christmas time.

by Eugene Field

O Little Town of Bethlehem.

       The text was written by Phillips Brooks (1835–1893), an Episcopal priest, rector of the Church of the Holy Trinity, Philadelphia. He was inspired by visiting the village of Bethlehem in the Sanjak of Jerusalem in 1865. Three years later, he wrote the poem for his church and his organist, Lewis Redner, added the music.

A decorative copy  of "O Little Town of Bethlehem" poem
 by Wilbur D. Nesbit that visitors may download and print.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by;

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting Light;

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,

And, gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep

Their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars, together

Proclaim the holy birth!

And praises sing to God the King,

And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven.

No ear may hear His coming,

But in the world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still,

The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem!

Descend to us, we pray;

Cast out our sin, and enter in,

Be born in us to-day.

We hear the Christmas angels

The great glad tidings tell;

Oh come to us, abide with us,

Our Lord Emmanuel!

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