by Camilla Toulmin.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.5 #1 (Jan 1844).
Christmas is come! and the board is spread,
Garnish'd the house for the revellers' tread;
Now they are thronging, and if ye come near,
A murmur of greeting will float to your ear;
The laughter of childhood rings merrily, too,
And the mirth of the Many makes smiling the Few!
Light streams around in the curtain'd halls,
On picture, and statue, its radiance falls;
Jewels are gleaming, but seeming less bright
Than eyes which are stars to the lover's sight;
Sparkles the wine, as if jewels rare
Were melted within the crystal there;
And the song and the story, the jest and the dance,
Would all but the soul of a cynic entrance.
Care is dethroned—oh, where hath he fled,
From the scene where the banquet to-day is spread.
Christmas is come! and the wintry air
Rudely breaks into a chamber bare;
Why doth it not fan to a genial glow,
The embers that flicker and fade so low?
Little breath for the purpose hath she who bends down,
Though skill'd in her task perforce she has grown.
Scarce for warmth is it kindled—kind Charity's hand
To-day grants a meal to the famishing band!
While blessing the giver—and yet with a sigh—
The father and children watch eagerly by.
Oh, would for to-day they could drive away sorrow,
And preparing a meal forget the to-morrow!
Yet another is there, e'en more sad and forlorn,
More tatter'd and feeble, more weak and more worn;
For the hungry whose food is from Pity to-day,
Bid one to their banquet more wretched than they!
Yea, true is the thing—for the Poor to the Poor,
Teach a lesson of virtue exalted and pure;
And the help that the Poor on the Poorer bestow,
Should blot half the wrong that their chronicles shew.
The gifts of the wealthy are—what they can spare,
Not less downy their couch, not less dainty their fare;
But the God who doth reckon our "talents" at last,
Forgets not the "mite" in the balance to cast!
Dec. 1843.