Christmas Eve. (1864.)

Fill the punch-bowl to the brim, Merry be—’tis Christmas-time, In it let sliced lemons swim, ’Til the midnight bell doth chime.

Eye the holly, fresh and green, Intertwined with mistletoe; Cast the ashen faggot in, Fan it till it crack and glow.

Pass the rosy goblet round; Bathe thy lips in liquors choice; Pour thy pleasure out in sound; Make an effort with thy voice:

Thus enhance the jubilee— Let fair damsels lead the songs, Follow them, in harmony; For with music love belongs.

Haste ye, and repeat the glee, Solo-song, or madrigal:— Quoth the host—“It pleases me, Bravo!—thou hast sung it well.”

Hark! the church-clock, striking twelve, Tingles through the merry hall; Put the tankard on the shelf— Rich or poor,—and stop the ball.

Now, with solemn gratitude, Thank Him, who provides us cheer; And with equal promptitude Reverence the fast fleeting year.

Spend the Sabbath, (’tis the last That will count in ’sixty-four,)— With a right becoming fast, ’Til the Monday sun shall soar.

Then with seemly merriment, ’Neath the mistletoe be gay; And with chasty sentiment Join the choral roundelay.

Dance together, young and old, To the sound of violin: Who will venture—who so bold— To assert it is a sin?—

Thus, for youths, in measured pace, To trip o’er the planken floor; Parents, with their wonted grace, Skipping as in days of yore?

No! this never can be sin,— So dance on—enjoy the hour; And when done—go, think of Him, Who, alone, can blessings show’r.

Christmas Day, in this year, happened to be on Sunday.