Christmas
How grace this hallowed day?Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire,Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fireRound which the children play?
Alas! for many a moon,That tongueless tower hath cleaved the Sabbath air,Mute as an obelisk of ice, aglareBeneath an Arctic noon.
Shame to the foes that drownOur psalms of worship with their impious drum,The sweetest chimes in all the land lie dumbIn some far rustic town.
There, let us think, they keep,Of the dead Yules which here beside the seaThey've ushered in with old-world, English glee,Some echoes in their sleep.
How shall we grace the day?With feast, and song, and dance, and antique sports,And shout of happy children in the courts,And tales of ghost and fay?
Is there indeed a door,Where the old pastimes, with their lawful noise,And all the merry round of Christmas joys,Could enter as of yore?
Would not some pallid faceLook in upon the banquet, calling upDread shapes of battles in the wassail cup,And trouble all the place?
How could we bear the mirth,While some loved reveler of a year agoKeeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow,In cold Virginian earth?
How shall we grace the day?Ah! let the thought that on this holy mornThe Prince of Peace--the Prince of Peace was born,Employ us, while we pray!
Pray for the peace which longHath left this tortured land, and haply nowHolds its white court on some far mountain's brow,There hardly safe from wrong!
Let every sacred faneCall its sad votaries to the shrine of God,And, with the cloister and the tented sod,Join in one solemn strain!
With pomp of Roman form,With the grave ritual brought from England's shore,And with the simple faith which asks no moreThan that the heart be warm!
He, who, till time shall cease,Will watch that earth, where once, not all in vain,He died to give us peace, may not disdainA prayer whose theme is--peace.
Perhaps ere yet the SpringHath died into the Summer, over allThe land, the peace of His vast love shall fall,Like some protecting wing.
Oh, ponder what it means!Oh, turn the rapturous thought in every way!Oh, give the vision and the fancy play,And shape the coming scenes!
Peace in the quiet dales,Made rankly fertile by the blood of men,Peace in the woodland, and the lonely glen,Peace in the peopled vales!
Peace in the crowded town,Peace in a thousand fields of waving grain,Peace in the highway and the flowery lane,Peace on the wind-swept down!
Peace on the farthest seas,Peace in our sheltered bays and ample streams,Peace wheresoe'er our starry garland gleams,And peace in every breeze!
Peace on the whirring marts,Peace where the scholar thinks, the hunter roams,Peace, God of Peace! peace, peace, in all our homes,And peace in all our hearts!
Sleep sweetly in your humble graves,Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause;Though yet no marble column cravesThe pilgrim here to pause.
In seeds of laurel in the earthThe blossom of your fame is blown,And somewhere, waiting for its birth,The shaft is in the stone!
Meanwhile, behalf the tardy yearsWhich keep in trust your storied tombs,Behold! your sisters bring their tears,And these memorial blooms.
Small tributes! but your shades will smileMore proudly on these wreaths to-day,Than when some cannon-moulded pileShall overlook this bay.
Stoop, angels, hither from the skies!There is no holier spot of groundThan where defeated valor lies,By mourning beauty crowned!
Words in this poem 17
- shall v. i.
- To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
- yonder adv.
- At a distance, but within view. [OE. yonder, ýonder; cf. OD. ginder, Goth. jaindr there. Yond, adv.]
- tongueless a.
- Having no tongue.
- glee n.
- Music; minstrelsy; entertainment.
- ghost n.
- The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
- yore adv.
- In time long past; in old time; long since. [OE. , yare, , AS. geára;akin to geár a year, E. year. Year.]
- reveler n.
- One who revels. [Written also reveller.]
- morn n.
- The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
- haply adv.
- By hap, chance, luck, or accident; perhaps; it may be.
- fane n.
- A temple; a place consecrated to religion; a church. [L. fanum a place dedicated to some deity, a sanctuary, fr. fari to speak. See Fame.]
- tented a.
- Covered with tents.
- rankly adv.
- With rank or vigorous growth; luxuriantly; hence, coarsely; grossly; as, weeds grow rankly.
- peopled a.
- Stocked with, or as with, people; inhabited.
- starry a.
- Abounding with stars; adorned with stars.
- somewhere adv.
- In some place unknown or not specified; in one place or another.
- meanwhile n.
- The intervening time; as, in the meantime (or mean time).
- storied a.
- Told in a story. [From Story.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Christmas is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems of Henry Timrod; with Memoir, Project Gutenberg ebook #845; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Henry Timrod, Christmas, in Poems (1860–1867), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #845, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/timrod-poems/christmas.html, id L10518.
Form and metre
Christmas is 96 lines in 24 stanzas of 4 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABBA, complete in 19 of its 24 stanzas. This poem did not settle on a metre of its own; the book it comes from is in iambic tetrameter. 97% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.0 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 23% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABBA dayA · spireB · fireB · playA
- 2 ABBA moonA · airB · aglareB · noonA
- 3 ABBA drownA · drumB · dumbB · townA
- 4 ABBA keepA · seaB · gleeB · sleepA
- 5 ABBA dayA · sportsB · courtsB · fayA
- 6 ABBA doorA · noiseB · joysB · yoreA
- 7 ABBA faceA · upB · cupB · placeA
- 8 ABBA mirthA · agoB · snowB · earthA
- 9 ABBA dayA · mornB · bornB · prayA
- 10 ABBA longA · nowB · browB · wrongA
- 11 ABBA faneA · godB · sodB · strainA
- 12 ABBA formA · shoreB · moreB · warmA
- 13 ABBA ceaseA · vainB · disdainB · peaceA
- 14 ABBA springA · allB · fallB · wingA
- 15 ABBA meansA · wayB · playB · scenesA
- 16 ABBA dalesA · menB · glenB · valesA
- 17 ABBA townA · grainB · laneB · downA
- 18 ABBA seasA · streamsB · gleamsB · breezeA
- 19 ABBA martsA · roamsB · homesB · heartsA
- 20 ABAB gravesA · causeB · cravesA · pauseB
- 21 ABAB earthA · blownB · birthA · stoneB
- 22 ABAB yearsA · tombsB · tearsA · bloomsB
- 23 ABAB smileA · dayB · pileA · bayB
- 24 ABAB skiesA · groundB · liesA · crownedB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| How grace this hallowed day? | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘/˘· |
| Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire | 11 | ···/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Round which the children play? | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Alas! for many a moon, | 7 | ˘/·/˘·· |
| That tongueless tower hath cleaved the Sabbath air, | 10 | ·/˘/···/˘· |
| Mute as an obelisk of ice, aglare | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| Beneath an Arctic noon. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Shame to the foes that drown | 6 | ······ |
| Our psalms of worship with their impious drum, | 11 | /··/˘··˘/˘· |
| The sweetest chimes in all the land lie dumb | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| In some far rustic town. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| There, let us think, they keep, | 6 | ······ |
| Of the dead Yules which here beside the sea | 10 | ······˘/·· |
| They've ushered in with old-world, English glee, | 10 | ·/˘····/˘· |
| Some echoes in their sleep. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| How shall we grace the day? | 6 | ······ |
| With feast, and song, and dance, and antique sports, | 10 | ·······˘/· |
| And shout of happy children in the courts, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| And tales of ghost and fay? | 6 | ······ |
| Is there indeed a door, | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| Where the old pastimes, with their lawful noise, | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| And all the merry round of Christmas joys, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Could enter as of yore? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Would not some pallid face | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Look in upon the banquet, calling up | 10 | ·····/˘/˘· |
| Dread shapes of battles in the wassail cup, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And trouble all the place? | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| How could we bear the mirth, | 6 | ······ |
| While some loved reveler of a year ago | 10 | ···/˘···˘/ |
| Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow, | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| In cold Virginian earth? | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| How shall we grace the day? | 6 | ······ |
| Ah! let the thought that on this holy morn | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| The Prince of Peace--the Prince of Peace was born, | 10 | ·········· |
| Employ us, while we pray! | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Pray for the peace which long | 6 | ······ |
| Hath left this tortured land, and haply now | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Holds its white court on some far mountain's brow, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| There hardly safe from wrong! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Let every sacred fane | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘· |
| Call its sad votaries to the shrine of God, | 10 | ·········· |
| And, with the cloister and the tented sod, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Join in one solemn strain! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| With pomp of Roman form, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| With the grave ritual brought from England's shore, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And with the simple faith which asks no more | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Than that the heart be warm! | 6 | ······ |
| He, who, till time shall cease, | 6 | ······ |
| Will watch that earth, where once, not all in vain, | 10 | ·········· |
| He died to give us peace, may not disdain | 10 | ········˘/ |
| A prayer whose theme is--peace. | 6 | ······ |
| Perhaps ere yet the Spring | 6 | ˘/···· |
| Hath died into the Summer, over all | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| The land, the peace of His vast love shall fall, | 10 | ·········· |
| Like some protecting wing. | 6 | ··˘/˘· |
| Oh, ponder what it means! | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Oh, turn the rapturous thought in every way! | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Oh, give the vision and the fancy play, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And shape the coming scenes! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Peace in the quiet dales, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Made rankly fertile by the blood of men, | 10 | ·/˘/˘····· |
| Peace in the woodland, and the lonely glen, | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| Peace in the peopled vales! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Peace in the crowded town, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Peace in a thousand fields of waving grain, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Peace in the highway and the flowery lane, | 10 | ···/···/˘· |
| Peace on the wind-swept down! | 6 | ······ |
| Peace on the farthest seas, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Peace in our sheltered bays and ample streams, | 10 | ··//˘··/˘· |
| Peace wheresoe'er our starry garland gleams, | 10 | ····//˘/˘· |
| And peace in every breeze! | 7 | ···/˘˘· |
| Peace on the whirring marts, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Peace where the scholar thinks, the hunter roams, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| Peace, God of Peace! peace, peace, in all our homes, | 10 | ········/· |
| And peace in all our hearts! | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause; | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Though yet no marble column craves | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| The pilgrim here to pause. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| In seeds of laurel in the earth | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| The blossom of your fame is blown, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And somewhere, waiting for its birth, | 8 | ·/·/˘··· |
| The shaft is in the stone! | 6 | ······ |
| Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years | 8 | /·˘/·/˘· |
| Which keep in trust your storied tombs, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Behold! your sisters bring their tears, | 8 | ˘/·/˘··· |
| And these memorial blooms. | 7 | ··˘/˘˘· |
| Small tributes! but your shades will smile | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| More proudly on these wreaths to-day, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Than when some cannon-moulded pile | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Shall overlook this bay. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Stoop, angels, hither from the skies! | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| There is no holier spot of ground | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| Than where defeated valor lies, | 8 | ··˘/˘/˘· |
| By mourning beauty crowned! | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
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