Johnnie's Christmas

Libbie C. Baer - 1849-1929

Papa and mama, and baby and Dot,
Willie and me—the whole of the lot
Of us all went over in Bimberlie’s sleigh,
To grandmama’s house on Christmas day.

Covered with robes on the soft cushioned seat,
With heads well wrapped up and hot bricks to our feet,
And two prancing horses, tho’ ten miles away,
The ride was quite short, on that bright Christmas day.

When all were tucked in and the driver said “Go!”
The horses just flew o’er the white, shining snow;
The town it slipped by us and meadow and tree,
And farm house till grandmama’s house we did see.

Grandmama was watching for us, there’s no doubt;
She soon come to meet us, and helped us all out;
And kissin’ and huggin’ said how we boys growed,
And big as our papa we’d soon be, she knowed.

And Dot she called handsome and said: “Ah! I guess
Grandmama’s woman has got a new dress.”
And said that the baby was pretty and smart;
“Dod b’ess it and love its own sweet ’ittle heart.”

And O, the red apples, and pop-corn on strings;
And balls of it, too, and nuts, candy and things;
And O, such a dinner and such pumpkin pie;
I eat and I eat till I thought I would die.

And grandmama urgin’, “Now, Johnnie, my man,
I wants you to eat; just eat all you can.”
When I eat all I could then I eat a lots more,
And I didn’t feel good as I had felt before.

At last it came time for us all to go back,
And into the sleigh again, all of us pack;
With grandmama kissin’ and sayin’ good byes,
With smiles on her lips, but the tears in her eyes.

We seemed much more crowded, and Bimberlie’s sleigh
Kept jerkin’ and hurtin’ me most all the way;
The robes were so stuffy I couldn’t get breath,
And Dot and the baby most squeezed me to death.

All night I kept tumblin’ and tossin’, ma said,
And frowed all the cover half off of the bed;
I dreamed of roast turkey and pop-corn and pie,
And fruit cake and candy, piled up to the sky!

And I dreamed I was sick and just lookin’ at it,
A wantin’ and yet I could not eat a bit;
And grandmama urgin’, “Now, Johnnie, my man,
I want you to eat, just eat all you can.”

More by Libbie C. Baer

When Christmas Comes

                        (Harry.)
When Christmas comes my brother Fred
And I are each to have a sled,
So papa says. To all good boys
Old Santa brings both books and toys,
            When Christmas comes.

                        (Paul.)
I know my mother is too poor,
To buy us toys, but I am sure
She’ll have for us some nice warm caps,
Some mittens, and some shoes, perhaps,
            When Christmas comes.

                        (James.)
I wrote old Santa Claus to bring
To me a drum, and everything;
A train of cars to run by steam,
And all of which I think, and dream,
            When Christmas comes.

                        (Willie.)
You greedy boy! You want it all;
I only want a top and ball;
I want what Santa Claus can spare
When other boys have had their share,
            When Christmas comes.

                        (James.)
I only wrote old Santa Claus
To bring me all those things, because
I want to give away some toys,
To Paul, and other widows’ boys,
            When Christmas comes.

                        (John.)
That’s right, my chum,
With fife and drum,
And singing tops we’ll make things hum;
Divide our toys with other boys,
And won’t we make a sight of noise,
            When Christmas comes.

                        (All.)
When Christmas comes to you and me,
Bid every selfish thought to flee;
Unselfish hearts and deeds, and then,
“Peace on earth, good will to men,”
            When Christmas comes.

Christmas Morn

How sad, how glad,
   The Christmas morn!
Some say, “To-day
   Dear Christ was born,
        And hope and mirth
        Flood all the earth;
Who would be sad
   This Christmas morn.”

How glad, how sad,
   The Christmas morn!
“To-day,” some say
   Dear Christ was born,
        But oh! He died;
        Was crucified!
Who could be glad
   This Christmas morn!

Or glad, or sad,
   This Christmas morn,
To some will come
   A joy new-born.
        The fleeting breath
        To some bring death,—
How glad, how sad
   This Christmas morn.