From “For the Children or the Grown-Ups?” (author unknown) in Christmas Poems, selected by David Stanford Burr:
‘Tis the week before Christmas and every night
As soon as the children are snuggled up tight
And have sleepily murmured their wishes and prayers,
Such fun as goes on in the parlour downstairs!
For Father, Big Brother, and Grandfather too,
Start in with great vigour their youth to renew.
The grown-ups are having great fun — all is well;
And they play till it’s long past their hour for bed.
They try to solve puzzles and each one enjoys
The magical thrill of mechanical toys,
Even Mother must play with a doll that can talk,
And if you assist it, it’s able to walk.
It’s really no matter if paint may be scratched,
Or a cogwheel, a nut, or a bolt gets detached;
The grown-ups are having great fun — all is well;
The children don’t know it, and Santa won’t tell.
From “Sly Santa Claus” by Mrs. C. S. Stone in Christmas Poems, selected by David Stanford Burr:
All the house was asleep,
And the fire burning low,
When, from far up the chimney,
Came down a “Ho! ho!”
And a little, round man,
With a terrible scratching,
Dropped into the room
With a wink that was catching.
Yes, down he came, bumping,
And thumping, and jumping,
And picking himself up without sign of a bruise….
“Ho! ho! What is this?
Why, they all are asleep!
But their stockings are up,
And my presents will keep!
So, in with the candies,
The books, and the toys;
All the goodies I have
For the good girls and boys.
I’ll ram them, and jam them,
And slam them, and cram them;
All the stockings will hold while the tired
youngsters snooze.”
All the while his round shoulders
Kept ducking and ducking;
And his little, fat fingers
Kept tucking and tucking;
Until every stocking
Bulged out, on the wall,
As if it were bursting,
And ready to fall.
And then, all at once,
With a whisk and a whistle,
And twisting himself
Like a tough bit of gristle,
He bounced up again,
Like the down of a thistle,
And nothing was left but the prints of his shoes.
