It was the calm and silent night!
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up read more

It was the calm and silent night!
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might
And now was queen of land and sea.
No sound was heard of clashing wars,
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain;
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars,
Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago.

There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.

There's nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.

"What means this glory round our feet,"
The Magi mused, "more bright than morn!"
And voices chanted read more

"What means this glory round our feet,"
The Magi mused, "more bright than morn!"
And voices chanted clear and sweet,
"To-day the Prince of Peace is born."

"Hark the herald angels sing,
Glory to the new-born king."
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
read more

"Hark the herald angels sing,
Glory to the new-born king."
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.!

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
read more

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Let's dance and sing and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.

Let's dance and sing and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.

When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow, we hear sweet voices ringing from lands of long ago, read more

When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow, we hear sweet voices ringing from lands of long ago, and etched on vacant places are half-forgotten faces of friends we used to cherish, and loves we used to know.

No trumpet-blast profound
The hour in which the Prince of Peace was born;
No bloody streamlet stained
read more

No trumpet-blast profound
The hour in which the Prince of Peace was born;
No bloody streamlet stained
Earth's silver rivers on the sacred morn.

How bless'd, how envied, were our life,
Could we but scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, curs'd read more

How bless'd, how envied, were our life,
Could we but scape the poulterer's knife!
But man, curs'd man, on Turkeys preys,
And Christmas shortens all our days:
Sometimes with oysters we combine,
Sometimes assist the savory chine;
From the low peasant to the lord,
The Turkey smokes on every board.