Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
Christmas was written by American writer Clement
Clarke Moore in 1882. Moore wrote the poem for his children on Christmas Eve
but little did he know, it would revolutionize the world’s image of old Saint
Nick. He is the reason, we have come to recognize Santa Claus as
“chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf.” The poem also introduced
two major themes that have grown to be associated with the bearded phenomenon,
his “sleigh full of toys” and his “band of trusty reindeers.”
Thomas Nast, a political cartoonist further solidified our modern image of
Santa Claus. His cartoon, which was published by Harper’s Weekly portrayed Santa as a “rotund, cheerful man
with a full, white beard, holding a sack laden with toys for lucky
children.” Altogether, Nast engraved Santa’s red suit, the North Pole, his
devoted little helpers as well as his supportive wife, Mrs. Claus, into our
collective memories.
wrote a poem evocative of Moore’s Twas the night before Christmas in an effort
to soothe the anxious mind of his daughter. The poem introduced us to a timid
reindeer named Rudolph, who was often pestered by the other reindeers because
of his pronounced glowing red nose.
great creative minds from different generations. It truly harkens the true
spirit of Christmastime. Read aloud, its cadence ignites that nostalgic feeling
of past Christmases and adds a little glimmer of magic in the hearts of every
little boy and girl.
Clarke Moore (1779 – 1863)
(1840 – 1902)
(1905 – 1976)
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