There's a song in the air!
There's a star in the sky!
There's a mother's deep prayer,
And a Baby's low cry;
And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king!
There's a tumult of joy,
O'er the Wonderful Birth,
For the Virgin's sweet Boy
Is the Lord of the earth.
Ay, the star rains its fire and the beautiful sing
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!
In the Light of that Star
Lie the ages impearled;
And that song from afar
Has swept over the world.
Every heart is aflame and the beautiful sing
In the homes of the Nations that Jesus is King.
The tree that had served in the parlor,
The pride of the girls and the boys,
Festooned all over with pop-corn,
And hung with candies and toys,
With its gifts taken off from its branches,
Was being removed the next day,
While every child in the household
Was watching its journey away.
Then Lillian said to the others,
As they met by the door of the hall,
"Let us carry it down to the garden,
And stand it up there by the wall;
And then we can play when we want to
That Christmas is coming again."
"Oh, yes, let us do so!" said Lucy;
"All right!" echoed Charley and Ben.
With chorus of shouting and laughter,
The tree to the garden they drew;
And, placing it straight in a corner,
They festoon the pop-corn anew.
A telephone must have been near them
That understood what they planned,
For the news of what they were doing
Spread quickly abroad in the land.
As soon from the west came a sparrow,
And another soon came from the east,
While flocks from the northward and southward
Arrived to claim shares of the feast;
And chickadees came from the thickets
In sprightliest holiday mood,
With pigeons from neighboring farm-yards,
And how they all chattered and cooed!
I bring you, friends, what the years have brought
Since ever men toiled, aspired or thought:
Days for labor, and nights for rest;
And I bring you, Love, a heaven-born guest,
Space to work in, and work to do,
And faith in that which is pure and true.
Hold me in honor, and greet me dear,
And sooth you'll find me a Happy Year.
MICHIGAN'S SEMI-CENTENNIAL SONG
To thee I sing, my own dear home,
In the land of the setting sun,
To thy hills and valleys, rivers and lakes,
Thy beauties every one.
Thou art dear to the hearts of thy loyal sons,
And thy daughters fond and true,
Who greet thee today with pride and joy,
And the glorious past review.
Each hallowed spot of thy lake bound shores,
Each teeming city of thine,
Each village, hamlet, hillside, dale,
Thy forests of oak and pine,
Thy northern shores that are fondly kissed,
By Superior's sparkling wave,
Where thou yield'st rich ores from thy loving heart Are dear to thy children brave.
On the lakes and rivers winding through
Thy forests deep and dark,
Where swiftly glided in days gone by,
The savage warrior's bark,
Are smiling meadows, fertile fields,
Tilled by thy children free,
Who offer this day with thankful hearts
Their loyal homage to thee:
Then blessings on thee, Michigan,
We wave thy banners gay,
And wish thee many glad returns,
Of this thy natal day;
We'll govern thee in coming years,
By laws both true and just,
And progress shall our watchword be
In God our hope and trust.
Then give three cheers for the boundless shores,
That the broad lake breezes fan,
Thou art dear to the hearts of thy loyal sons,
Beautiful Michigan.
Michigan! Michigan!-how I do wish again
I could partake out of infancy's dish again!
Once more a child-chief in pioneer laborhood—
Only boy "kid" in the whole blooming neighborhood!
Pampered and kissed by the big girls that called on me,
Fed maple-sugar in blocks, till it palled on me;
Hailed as a newly established divinity
By all the big girls inside the vicinity.
Still, of my future that was not determinant,
Being unable to make the game permanent-
For they deserted, with female agility,
When I displayed too much ans'ring ability.
I had left Heaven, as the Fates had commanded me,
Wondering where in what world they had landed me;
Wailing because from the gold streets they'd parted me,
Wishing they never for this one had started me.
Riding all night my dad over home's track again,
Till he looked heavenward, and wished I were back again;
Singing loud songs where bad angels complained in them-
Chanting long poems, with "Goo goo" contained in them.
What did I think of the forest low sighing there?——
Blessed if I know: I came very near dying there.
What were my views of faith, love, hope, and charity,
When I had colic with strict regularity?
How could they think they could cuddle in laughter me,
When the croup always was dangling 'round after me?
Whooping-cough, measles, and mumps all look back at me;
Every known juvenile ill took a whack at me;
Nothing but I could get into a jumble from;
No elevation but what I could tumble from.
When I consider how much there was wrong with me,
Hanged if I know how the world got along with me.
Even the Indians, when watching each move of me,
Looked at me slant-wise and did not approve of me.
Thus Chief Bawbeese in terse phrase got the best of us:
"Humph!-white pappoose is as red as the rest of us!"
What was the wind, when a loud wail it rose to be?
I was a caliope myself, when I chose to be.
What of the stars that were topping and flanking me?
I saw enough stars when loved ones were spanking me!
Michigan babyhood!-June and December you
Mixed well, so far as I can remember you!
Michigan! Michigan! how I do wish again
I in your lakelets could run off, and fish again!
How in clear air would my worm-wabbled snare
Hitched to a string, through the atmosphere swish again!
How would I then, with unfair honorarium
Lure the black bass from his leafy aquarium!
How would I love my boy-nerves to excite with him!
How from the skiff's edge to play and to fight with him!
Slow there your projects in caution unravelling;
Give him the line, now, and let him go traveling;
Bring him up slow-too much haste were injurious;
Now haul him in! O my Lord 'twas luxurious!
How well adapted this fishing to work us is:
Cruel as graves-but more fun than ten circuses!
All the wide lake do we paddle and stop about,
While in our boat the smooth animals flop about,
Paying for when the great fish took as ballast in
Jonah, on one of the big lakes of Palestine.
Ah!-let's go spearing!-the night-air is gathering
Round our young heads; and some white clouds are feathering
Up toward the sky where dead fisherman-sages are;
And the bright stars mapped for ages and ages are.
Where Isaac Walton, grown bigger and fleetier,
Angles perhaps now for comet and meteor,
And Daniel Webster 'mid sundry potations there,
Maybe is fishing and writing orations there.
Light up the flambeau! our prey we will win with it!
Talk of electric lights!—they don't begin with it.
Now for good eating to-morrow we'll plan a day:
"Row, brothers, row" as Moore said up in Canada.
Far off the whip-poor-will uses her knack to sing;
Nearer the bullfrog his trombone is practicing:
Hark! cut the story! though full of sweet mirth it was:
Silence is golden if ever on earth it was!
Slowly we glide, our vocation pursuing there,
Till some fish bobs up to see what is doing there;
Then you who've been there will quick believe that o' me-
Crash! goes the spear through his lovely anatomy!
Of any life I dislike to be killer, though:
Yes, it was cruel: but wasn't it a thriller, though!
School's called!-the little red house is us sheltering,
Whether the weather be freezing or sweltering;
Ah! the dear teacher has ways of a dove with her:
Wish we were older: we'd then fall in love with her.
Nothing forgetful or slow or inert with her;
Wish we were bigger: we'd get up and flirt with her.
Presto! the teacher has ways void of charity:
Does not approve of scholastic hilarity;
Thinks that to ferule our bread-hooks is rulable:
Wish we were younger, so hairs were not pullable.
Fall in love promptly with girls in our classes there
Make ourselves juvenile Wolverine asses there;
(Wonder what heart-mumps and measles we took at them-
Later in life when we get a good look at them;)
Give them sweet notes as a message inaugural,
Follow it up with some measures of doggerel.
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