Christmas In Norway

A flock of crows a caucus held Upon a certain day, And talked of many a sober theme, In sober, serious way.

They touched on corn, on growing crops, They praised the plough and hoe; And bolder ones of scarecrows spoke With bated breath and low.

At length, a crow advanced in years, His speech a feeble caw, Arose to tell of things that he In foreign countries saw.

“One Christmas Day I chanced to be In Norway,” quoth the bird; “And ’twas the coldest winter wind That e’er my feathers stirred.

“My mate was ill and could not fly, And, anxious at her plight, I pondered where to seek her food Through all the bitter night.

“The morning broke on icy trees, And fields adrift with snow, And faint with hunger, numb with cold I scarce knew where to go.

“Beyond the wood a farmhouse stood, And there at length I flew, Hoping to find a seed or crumb To feed my mate so true.

“Wary, I flapped above the roof, When, what my eyes should greet, But, fixed to gable, door and gate, Great sheaves of golden wheat!

“Behind the shining window-panes, Stood children all a-row, And happy voices eager cried, ‘Bright Christmas! Master Crow!’

“Oh, blessings on those kindly folk At Christmas evermore, And blest be all that feed the birds In Norway’s rocky shore!”

He ceased. A chorus loud arose From birds both far and near; “Ah! would the children in this land Provide such Christmas cheer!”