Читать книгу The Old Soldier's Story: Poems and Prose Sketches - Riley James Whitcomb - Страница 12

Chant me a rhyme of Christmas —

Sing me a jovial song, —

And though it is filled with laughter,

Let it be pure and strong.

Let it be clear and ringing,

And though it mirthful be,

Let a low, sweet voice of pathos

Run through the melody.

Sing of the hearts brimmed over

With the story of the day —

Of the echo of childish voices

That will not die away. —

Of the blare of the tasselled bugle,

And the timeless clatter and beat

Of the drum that throbs to muster

Squadrons of scampering feet. —

Of the wide-eyed look of wonder,

And the gurgle of baby-glee,

As the infant hero wrestles

From the smiling father's knee.

Sing the delights unbounded

Of the home unknown of care,

Where wealth as a guest abideth,

And want is a stranger there.

But O let your voice fall fainter,

Till, blent with a minor tone,

You temper your song with the beauty

Of the pity Christ hath shown:

And sing one verse for the voiceless;

And yet, ere the song be done,

A verse for the ears that hear not,

And a verse for the sightless one:

And one for the outcast mother,

And one for the sin-defiled

And hopeless sick man dying,

And one for his starving child.

For though it be time for singing

A merry Christmas glee,

Let a low, sweet voice of pathos

Run through the melody.