From The Poets

Southland Times, Issue 20172, 7 May 1927, Page 23 (Supplement)

From The Poets

YOUR BEST. If you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill Be a scrub in the valley—but be The best little scrub on the side of the hill; Be a bush if you can’t be a tree. If you can’t be a bush be a bit of the grass, Some highway to happier make. If you can’t be a whale, then just be a bass, But the liveliest bass in the lake. We can’t all be captains; some have to be crew ; There’s a place for all of us here; There’s big work to do, and there’s lesser to do, And the task we must do is the near. If you can’t be a highway, then just be a trail; If you can’t be a sun, be a star. It isn’t by size that you win or you fail Be the best of whatever you are. —Selected. —Sent in by Cousin Daphne Godward.

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. ’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap— When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprung from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window 1 flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash, The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave a lustre of mid-day to objects below ; When, what to my wandering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by names. “Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On! Comet, on! Cupid on! Donder and Blitzen — To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall Now r , dash away, dash away, dash away all!” As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane iiy When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky, So, up to the house-tops the coursers they flew, With a sleigh full of toys—and St. Nicholas, too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his feet, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot : A bundle of toys he had flung on his back. And he looked like a pedlar just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry: » His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump—a right jolly old elf: And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings: then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle, But I h®ard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight !” —Clement C. Moore.