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4444444+44444 44*4+++44 X 16 Pages X X SECTION ONE t Pages 1-8. ? 444♦♦4444 444444444 Volume LVI. No. 94. Leads all North Carolina Bailies in Mews am Circulation __ __ M - i i ' ' ' sets, '' li. r..."gya POEMS OFCHRISTMAS TUK STAIt ABOVK THE MANGER. (Tlieo. IJ. Ilill, Raleigh, X. C.) One night, while lowly shepherd swains their fleecy charge attended A light shone o’er Judea’s plains un utterably splendid. Far in the dusky Orient a star, un known in story, Arose to flood the firmament with more than morning glory. And Heaven drew nearer Earth that night, hung wide its pearly portals. Sent forth from all its realms of light its radiant immortals: They hovered In the golden air, their golden censers swinging. And woke the drowsy shepnerds there; with their seraphic singing. Yet Earth, on this her gala night, no j jubilee was keeping; She lay, unconscious of the light, In j silent beauty sleeping. No more shall brightest cherubim and stateliest archangels Syinphonious sing such choral hymn, proclaim so sweet evangels. No more appear that star at eve. though glimpses of its glory Are seen by those who still believe the shepherds’ simple story. In Faith’s clear firmament afar, to : unbelief a stranger. Forever glows the golden star thatJ stood above the manger. Age after age may roll away, but on i Time’s rapid liver The light of its celestial ray shall never cease to quiver. Light! light! from the Heraldic Star breaks brightly o’er the billow. The storm, rebuked, is fled afar, the pilgrim seeks his pillow. l Lost! lost! indeed, his heart must be, j his wav how dark with danger. Whose hooded eye may never see the Star above the Manger! CHRISTMAS ON THE TRAIN. (Written for the Editor and Pub- j lisher by Strickland W. Gilliam. Pres ’ ident of the American Press Humor ist.) I lounge by the Pullman casement As the landscape scampers by, Dut still it defies erasement — This picture that fills my eye: A picture of her and the wee ones I And the cunniugiest cone-shaped l tree — How I wish I were one of the free ones That their joy could be shared by me! lam one —poor one, of an army. Compelled by the fates to roam; But when I see A wee Spruce tree, My thought run back to my home. To my home and her that loves me And to them we both adore; But the demon of Duty shoves me Along with a rush and roar. The hills (they are heartless!) are taunting And breaking the heart of me — For everywhere they are flaunting Full many a cone-shaped tree. I am one —bare fine, of an army Compelled by the fates to roam; But when I see A wee Spruce tree, My heart cries out for my home. Put T—can 1 be a jester. Who fret and bewail so sore? A veteran —aye, a Nestor, In realms of the lightsome lore.' I, preaching to all "Be plucky, Avaunt with your weight or woe, ’ Should think of myself as lucky For a home to which to go! i So I’m one—brave one, of an army Compelled by the fates to roam, But dont’ let me see A wee Spruce tree. Lest I childishly weep for home. TIIE LESSON. (By It-dy-rd K-pl-ng.) From the Chicago Tribune. I hus spake the Sage at Christmastime —his words were full ol’ heat: “The only tiling I like to get in my stoekings is my feet." When earth’s last present is given, when the gifts are bundled and tied And we’ve paid the charge to express them wherever the folks abide. We shall rest —and. faith, we shall need it; lie down till we gather strength, For we know that our Christmas pres ents are coining to us at length. We know that for every trinklet that we in despair have bought That somebody else over our gift in worry has thought and thought; That slippers and smoking jackets, and razors and guns and knives And holiday sets of Shawespeare have shortened some other lives. Thus spake the sage at Christmas time: “Ah, many men have joked About the box‘of gift cigars—such men as never smoked.” And many shall sav they are happy— they shall sit in a Morris chair And puff at a Flor de Rubber with a merry and grateful air; And each of us rather slyly his flatten ed out purse shall touch And look at his Christinas present, and mutter “I spent too much.” Perhaps when the years have swiftly away to future flown. Then no one shall give'a present, but each one shall buy his own— Then each one shall hang his stocking aloft on his separate star And pick out the Thing he chooses— and puff at his own cigar. Thus spake the sage: “At your dis tress ’tis not for me to .scoff: If you don't like what fills your liose then have your legs cut off.” “The New Year Resolution will soon be with us,” says a Georgia editor, "but it won’t stay there long!” The News and Observer. A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL. I?'- %?- - - . ■ ■ ill ; siepiipiM Uftetia m jsS yy/y.y' „ ic - * r ... jep JZ $ ■ | f .yA ’1 ;ySslfeiftSfir : jtffl ISI • r-*’" JENNETT’S CHRISTMAS INSPIRATION. RALEIGH, NORTH CAROLINA, SUNDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 25, 1904. j44*44444444444444444* X 16 Pages | J SECTION ONE t | Pages 1-8. | aAAA AAAAaaaaiaaaaaAAA4 Price Five Cents. wanton’s Xmas Songs The Old Time Christmas Feeling. I. The old-time Christmas feelin’ It's with us. fur an’ nigh— We see the old-time angels In the winders of the sky: An’ we hear the old-time stories, An’ the songs of Long Ago.— It's the old-time Christmas feelin’ In the blossoms, or the snow! 11. The old-time Christmas feelin"; — An’ let the weather roll! The old-time Christmas sunshine Is a-lightin* up the soul! Take hands! Tune up the fiddle, On valley, hill, an’plain:— "Old Times In Georgia. An’ Christmas once again!" ♦ '•fr The Same Sweet Song. “I’ve been thinking of you in the Christmas,” I wrote to you long ago. When the sky was dim with shadows, And the world was white with snow. And I’m thinking of you in the Christ mas, That dawns on the world today, Just as the old, my dearie. In the beautiful Far-Away! 11. I’m thinking of you in the Christmas —■ Over the waste of years: And my heart’s in the old time gardens And still keeps time to tears. God’s love from his sweetest heaven, On your life —from mine apart!— I'm thinking of you in the Christmas, Just as of old. Sweetheart! ♦ Divided. (F. L. Stanton.) I. V’hv roam you in the summer isles Amid the hills of Hearing, And I where never summer smiles. Forever northward faring? 11. Why roam you where the stars shine bright And crown the hills with glory, And I in loneliness of Night, With not one star's sweet stsry? 111. What bells you hear this Christmas time Where hearts fear not to sever' And I where but the black seas chime “Forever and forever.” IV. The Christmas holly wreathes yo halls— The lights above you glisten; ™ You may not hear a voice that cal Or, hearing lean and listen! V. But evermore that voice rit'grs true. Though heard o’er dim sens never. And sings Love’s sweetest song to you "Forever and forever." VI. God keer you in ihe Christmas lights Until, Life’s barriers riven, Through lonely wandering’s—solemn nights Love leads to Love's own heaven: ♦ ♦ ♦ De Fiddler is To Pay. Lots er folks, believers. Is wise along de way: Don’t believe in dancin’ Es de fiddler is ter pay! I. Pleasure got his own pric< (Lissen what T say!) Don’t you cut yo’ capers Es de liddler Is ter pay 11. W'en he pass de hat roun’ Mebbe you’ll be gray; En Peace will be de price den W'en de fiddler is ter pay! 4* ♦ Hooray With the Boys. Worn of the wind and weather — Gone arc all our joys; But pull yourselves together, An’ hooray with the boys! Life’s all too brief for sighing— The sigh the song affrights; i Hear the high stars replying; i “The lights—the Christmas lights!’ ••J* Watch Out, LiT Chi! lull! I. Watch out. liT chiilun. Better kiver up in bed W’en de Win’ is in a gallop ’Cross de shingles on de shed; He axin’ ’bout de chiilun: Better hide yo’ li’i’ head, En dream ’bout de Chris-mus in de mawnin’! If. Watch out, liT chiilun! Dar’s a witch a-waitiu’ too, Tor gallop on a broomstick Cross de roof dat klvers you! Go ter sleep—go ter sleep ’Twel de Sun say, '‘Howdy-do’’— En dream ’bout de Chrls’mus in do mawnin’! ❖ + *l* Hie Little Orphans. Santy Claus don't come our way With them toys of his; He's forgot the place we stay: Don’t know wher’ orphants is! I wish some angel by the sky. Would tell him, please don’t pass ua by! He don’t remember we're so poor An’ needy, an' all that; They ain't no number on the door The place we're livin’ at! An’ when the winter nights begin. The Wind don’t knock, —but des comes in! / Oh, don't we wish that he'd come back, Thes like he used to do. With all them toys in his pack. An’ say: “How’s all o’ you!" •He’s got so much good things to give. An’ done fergot wher’ orphants live! But though he hajs fergot us so, Willi Chris’mus gifts o’ his. We won’t be poor in heaven. I know. Wher’ lots o’ orphants is! Cl wish some angel, up on high Would tell him. please don't pass us by)!
The News & Observer (Raleigh, N.C.)
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Dec. 25, 1904, edition 1
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