The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1904-12-22
CHRISTMAS IN CALIFORNIA.

This poem, by the late Edward Rowland
Sill,fo many years professor of English Lit
erature, University of California, tells of
the climatic and social contrasts of Christ
mas time with such grace and truth, that it
long has been favOrite among all admirers
of the talented authOr.-Sunset Magazine.
Can this be Christmas-sweet as May,
With drOWSy sun, and dreamy air,
And new grass pointing out tie way
For flowers to follow, everywhere?
Has Time grown sleepy at his post,
And let the exiled summer back,
Or is it her regretful ghost,
Or witchcraft of the almanac?
While wandering breaths OF mignonette
In at the open window come,
l send my thoughts afar, and let
Them paint your Christmas day at home.
Glitter of ice, and CLINT of frost,
And SparkleS in the cruSted snow;
And bark the dancing sleigh-bells, tost
The faster as they fainter grow.
The creaking footsteps hurry past;
The quick breath dimS the frosty air;
And down the crisp road slipping fast
Their laughing loads the cutters bear.
Penciled against the cold white sky,
The thin blue smoke lifts lingeringly,
AS lOath to leave the mirth below.
For at the door merry din
Is heard, with stamp of feathery feet,
And chattering girls come storming in,
To toast them at the roaring CRATE
And then from muff and pocket peer,
And many a warm and scented nook,
Mysterious little bundles queer,
That, rustling, tempt the curious look.
Now broad upon the southern walls
The mellowed suns great smile appears,
And tips the rOugh-ringed icicles
With sparks, that grow to glittering tears.
Then, as the darkening day goes by,
The wind gets CUSTER without,
And laden StreakS are on the sky,
And whirls of snow are all about.
Soon freight shadows, merry crew,
Along the darkling walls will leap
And clap their hands, as if they knew
thousand things too good to keep.
Sweet eyes with home contentment filled,
AS in the Wondering Goals they peer,
HAPPY some wandering pictures build
OF how l keep my Christmas here.
Before me, on the wide, warm bay,
million azure ripples run;
Round me the sprOuting palm shoots lay
Their shining lanceS to the sun.
With glossy leaves that poise or swing,
The callas their white cups unfold,
| And faintest chimes of OdOr ring
From silver bells with tongues of gold.
A languor of deliciousness
Fills all the sea-enchanted cline;
And in the blue heavens meet, and kiss,
The lettering clouds of summertime.
This fragrance of the mountain balm
From spicy Lebanon might be;
Beneath such sunshine's amber calm
| Slumbered the waves of Galilee.
0 wondrous gift, in goodness given
Each hour anew our eyes to greet,
And earth SO far-so close to heaven,
Twas trOdden by the Masters feet.
And we-what bring we in return?
Only these broken lives, and life
| Them up to meet His plying ScOrn,
| AS some poor child its foolish gift:
AS some child on Christmas day
! Its broken toy in love might bring;
You could not break its heart and say
| You cared not for the Worthless thing.
All. word of trust, His child. That child
! Emo brought to earth the life divine,
Tells me the Fathers pity mild
| ScOrnS not even such a gift as mine.
| am His creature, and His air
| l breathe, where'er my feet may stand;
The angels song rings everywhere,
| And all the earth is Holy Land.