Poems (Cook)/Here's Christmas

HERE'S CHRISTMAS.

Here's "Christmas"—let us boldly greet him,We may as well, for none can cheat him;He will steal on, and slily sprinkleThe first grey hair and first faint wrinkle.And yet methinks it little mattersWhat seed of Ruin-moss he scatters,So that amid it we contriveTo keep Truth's Heartsease still alive Within our breast.

Here's Christmas, and it seemeth wellThat Conscience to our deeds should tellThe just result of all we've done,And trace the way our sands have run.Let us peruse the closely-seal'd;The volume ever unreveal'd;And see if we have said or thoughtNo evil thing that shall have brought Blots on our crest.

The heart is but a ledger-sheetWhere Right and Wrong in balance meet;And well it is that we should seeFull often how "accounts" may be.Old Christmas has a trick we findOf bringing bills of every kind,So, ere we drain the festive cup,We'll look within and reckon up The debts we owe.

Too many of us get so wraptIn "own dear self," that we are aptTo dwell much more on what our brothersShould give to us than we to others.Our grasp is quick to seize and holdThe kindness paid in moral gold,But Equity, that bids us passThe same again, oft sees, alas! Our palms more slow.

Let us not idly shirk the task,But face ourselves, and boldly askOur conduct whether it has trodThe path of Mammon or of God? A more important "day-book" livesThan that which worldly commerce gives,Some brighter figures must be foundThan those which make the golden round Of Profit's dial.

Let us take heed that no arrearsAre due to those whose silent tearsAre calling on us night and dayFor debts which mercy ought to pay;Let us be sure that we have heardThe claims of Misery's lowly word,And that our lips have never drivenThe helpless and the spirit-riven With harsh denial.

Let us think how "accounts" may standWhen the "recording angel's" handAdds up our columns—turning thenTo the "great book" not kept by men.No yellow dust will serve to hide.The errors made by selfish pride:False items, though on vellum page,Will never bear the searching gauge Of holy sight.

So take good caution how we letDelusion lead us into debt;And let Old Christmas find us willingTo pay Humanity's last shilling.We'll pile the log and drain the cup,But not before we reckon upThe "balance-sheet" that Conscience draws,And God e'er keeps by his own laws Of Wrong and Right.