The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1881-12-21
THE MODERN SANTA CLAUS.
rv J. T. rRowBnpor.


nv J. r rEowBEIDor.
Where IS the old man Santa Claus,
With his airy sled which the reindeer draws,
And the round little twinkling face hedgci
in
by the icicled cap and the frosted chin?
Storm-proof lesgins and huge surtout,
Speckled with snow and with chimneyss,ci ;
And his packs that hold
Treasures untold
For young and old
Where does he live and what does he do
Or where IS the fortune-teller who
Can tell US If these things are true?
Come here, Conrad; listen, Prue
am the foriune-teller, who
VIII tell you ii these things are true.
Turn down the gas to the feeblest spark,
Now take my hands sit close-and hark,
Out there in the dark
Whats that looming,
What's that glooming.
What's that booming
There in the dark?
Something wonderful, something white,
Fills the nigh;
With a strange dim light!
Is il the world Of Arctic snow,
OF the polar bear and the Esquimaux?
Where the avalanche falls
AnG the eglacier criwls-
Mother Of iecnerssl where she crawls
Eternally oserthe worlds white walls,
And iitters her whelrs in the brine below;
Where they go,
Where the'slow,
Huge, wallowing growing young iceberss
20,
crowding and crunching through fog and
foe
Unoonquered realm Of the tyrant Ice,
Whose PALACES rise,
Mountain size.
Peak over peak and stair over stair,
In the twilight air,
Is this the country of Santa Claus.
Where life never blooms and the frost never
,hawss
And what are tie nngling sounds hear
The small sharp click of the hoof Ola deer,
The crack Of a whip, and the edges
Ofan ice ledge
The clank ola sedge;
A frezen-in whale-ship's whistling tackle;
The crimson aurora's ftful cracl;le,
As it flashes and fades up The SKY, with the
sound,
Tie dreary sound,
ofwaves dashed round
IN iceberg aground;
And tire roar ear
Eyerm0re,
OF grinding goes On 4 polar shore
DO my ewes and ears deceive me?
Something hear and see. believe me.
Something wonderful, something white,
Fills the world with soft bright light
Isitice and snow
Ny children noi
Nor ieeberss topple nor glaciers flow.
But peaks Of paid paper rise,
y stairway leading to unseen skyes,
Ledgcs of snow white paper CLEAN,
Terrace on terrace, Team above ream:
Aud bear the quick
Msisudinous click
Oftvpes falling thick
In the printers stick:
No northern lights, as they Fash and fade,
Bat the curious Tapping and cracking made
BY the folder and binder plying their trade
And the sound ihatseened the sea, ] guess is
The hethgnderof hundreds of printing presses
Not the icebergs crashing
That fills the air,
Eor the gnashing
And spiashing
OF walrus and bear;
Nor the foes that grind on polar shore;
But these are the monsters that clank and
roar
'Tis steam, my children. steam, that draws
The steed Of old man Santa Clansl
Here is the region whose ribs of snow,
Whose magic mountains melt and iow
In thousand rivers, million brooks,
Paper and magazines and books;
The realm OF his choicest gifts that fill
Boxes and mail bags, what you will
Covers that hold
Words brighter than gold.
Leaves that enfold
Thoughts more precious than gems Of gold
Picture and story, rhyme and prose,
BY the modern modes;
All sorts Of loads,
On all kinds Of roads,
To all men : abodes,
They are bundled and hound and borne
away
To gladden. all hearts on Christmas Day.
Believe nc, Conrad hear me. Prue.
Your marvellous tales are halfway true.
But this the realm, or else ! dream,
Here Is the realm where hereigns supreme.
No reindeer team,
Dut iron and steam
Where the modern Santa Claus reins SUI
The Youths Companion.