On a Christmas eve an emigrant train
Sped on through the blackness of night,
And cleft the pitchy dark in twain
With the gleam of its fierce headlight.
In a crowded car, a noisome place,
Sat a mother and her child;
The woman’s face bore want’s wan trace,
But the little one only smiled,
And tugged and pulled at her mother’s dress,
And her voice had a merry ring,
As she lisped, “Now, mamma, come and guess
What Santa Claus’ll bring.”
But sadly the mother shook her head,
As she thought of a happier past;
“He never can catch us here,” she said
“The train is going too fast.”
“O, mamma, yes, he’ll come, I say,
So swift are his little deer,
They run all over the world to-day;—I’ll
hang my stocking up here.”
She pinned her stocking to the seat,
And closed her tired eyes;
And soon she saw each longed-for sweet
In dreamland’s paradise.
On a seat behind the little maid
A rough man sat apart,
But a soft light o’er his features played,
And stole into his heart.
As the cars drew up at a busy town
The rough man left the train,
But scarce had from the steps jumped down
Ere he was back again.
And a great big bundle of Christmas joys
Bulged out from his pocket wide;
He filled the stocking with sweets and toys
He laid by the dreamer’s side.
At dawn the little one woke with a shout,
’Twas sweet to hear her glee;
“I knowed that Santa Claus would find me out,
He caught the train you see.”
Though some from smiling may scarce refrain,
The child was surely right,
The good St. Nicholas caught the train,
And came aboard that night.
For the saint is fond of masquerade
And may fool the old and wise,
And so he came to the little maid
In an emigrant’s disguise.
And he dresses in many ways because
He wishes no one to know him,
For he never says, “I am Santa Claus,”
But his good deeds always show him.
RECITATION—The Waifs.
At the break of Christmas day,
Through the frosty starlight ringing,
Faint and sweet and far away,
Comes the sound of children, singing,
Chanting, singing,
“Cease to mourn,
For Christ is born,
Peace and joy to all men bringing!”
Careless that the chill winds blow,
Growing stronger, sweeter, clearer,
Noiseless footfalls in the snow
Bringing the happy voices nearer;
Hear them singing,
“Winter’s drear,
But Christ is here,
Mirth and gladness with him bringing!”
“Merry Christmas!” hear them say
As the east is growing lighter;
“May the joy of Christmas day
Make your whole year gladder, brighter!”
Join their singing,
“To each home
Our Christ has come,
All Love’s treasures with him bringing!”
SONG—Welcome Santa Claus. Tune: “Hold the Fort.”
From the cold and frosty northland;
Oh so far away,
Santa Claus will soon be coming
In his little sleigh;
Let us listen for the reindeers’
Dancing, prancing feet,
Let us wait old Santa’s jolly,
Jolly face to greet!
Listen, don’t you hear his sleigh-bells
Oh so faintly ring,
Santa Claus is surely coming
Many gifts to bring;
In his busy little workshop
Many a long, long day,
Pretty presents he has made
To give them all away!
Oh his sleigh-bells jingle, jingle,
Very, very near;
Can it be that dear old Santa’s
Really almost here?
Hark, they cease their silver music,
Santa Claus has come!
Welcome, welcome, dear old Santa,
Welcome to each home!
ORIGINAL ADDRESS—By a Person Selected.
RECITAL—Santa Claus and the Mouse.
(For boy or girl, who has a stocking with a hole in
it, and holds it up in the last verse, shows the hole
and thrusts one or two fingers through it.)
One Christmas eve when Santa Claus
Came to a certain house,
To fill the children’s stockings there
He found a little mouse.
“A merry Christmas, little friend,”
Said Santa, good and kind.
“The same to you, sir,” said the mouse,
“I thought you wouldn’t mind
If I should stay awake to-night
And watch you for awhile.”
“You’re very welcome, little mouse,”
Said Santa with a smile.
And then he filled the stockings up
Before the mouse could wink.—
From toe to top, from top to toe
There wasn’t left a chink.
“Now, they won’t hold another thing,”
Said Santa Claus, with pride.
A twinkle came in mouse’s eyes,
But humbly he replied:
“It’s not polite to contradict,—
Your pardon I implore,—
But in the fullest stocking there
I could put one thing more.”
“Oh, ho!” laughed Santa, “silly mouse!
Don’t I know how to pack?
By filling stockings all these years,
I should have learned the knack.”
And then he took the stocking down
From where it hung so high,
And said: “Now put in one thing more;
I give you leave to try.”
The mousie chuckled to himself,
And then he softly stole
Right to the stocking’s crowded toe
And gnawed a little hole!
“Now, if you please, good Santa Claus,
I’ve put in one thing more;
For you will own that little hole
Was not in there before.”
How Santa Claus did laugh and laugh!
And then he gayly spoke:
“Well! you shall have a Christmas cheese
For that nice little joke.”
If you don’t think this story true,
Why I can show to you
The very stocking with the hole
The little mouse gnawed through!
RECITATION—What Ted Found in his Stocking.
“I don’t care, I will go!
So there, Mamma Mouse!
The folks are all sleeping
All over the house;
“The stockings are hanging—
I smell the sweet bits.
It’s enough to drive mousies
Into wild, crazy fits!”
So when old Mrs. Mouse
Went off to her bed,
The little mouse watched,
And popped up his head.
Then smelling his way
Very nicely along,
He jumped into a stocking,
So new and so strong.
But a string on a bundle
Stuck out in a loop,
And in it he tumbled,
The poor silly dupe!
Oh, then what bewailings
Came out of that stocking!
Such moans and lamentings,
It really was shocking!
“O dear! and oh dear!
I wish I was home!
If I’d minded mamma,
And hadn’t ’a’ come!”
But ’twas all of no use.
The string was so tight
That all he could do
Was to wait for daylight.
Then Ted gave a shout
That awoke the whole house;
For there in his stocking
Was a little gray mouse!
What became of him then
The cat only can tell,
But one thing I’ll say—
I know very well
(By Whole School in Concert).
That he’ll never again on a Christmas Eve
Jump into a stocking without any leave!
MUSIC—To be Selected.
SANTA CLAUS—To be Selected.
(Comes in dressed in heavy winter garments, with
long, white beard and pockets stuffed with toys).
DISTRIBUTION OF GIFTS.
PROGRAMME FOR DECORATION DAY.
(Music by band or orchestra can be introduced whenever deemed appropriate).
SINGING—“Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean.”
DECLAMATION—The Meaning of the Day.
All over our land, in every cemetery
where rests members of our army of
the dead—and we doubt if any
burial place has not such sleepers,—people
are gathered to-day to pay tribute
to our soldier dead and strew flowers over
their graves. All hearts turn as by a common
impulse to these ceremonies. We bring
our offerings of flowers to the soldiers, but
it affects them not; they cannot feel the love
and gratitude that prompt the gift. Their
lives and deeds have wrought for themselves
more enduring monuments than sculptured
marble. We assure the loving soldiers that
they are not forgotten—that their courage
and patriotism will always be remembered as
long as a loyal school boy or school girl may
live. But this day means more than this, it
means something for our nation, something
for posterity; its belief in that grand old flag
and what it stands for; a belief in freedom.
It means that the boys and girls of to-day,
the men and women of to-morrow, who share
in this day’s ceremonies, echo the words of our
fathers, that “this government shall be preserved,
come what will, threaten it who may.”
EXERCISE.
(For fifteen pupils each carrying a flag, and gesturing
as indicated. Pupil 8 should carry a larger
flag than the others. Seven to the left of eight should
hold flags to left shoulder; seven to right of eight,
should hold flags to right shoulder. When the word
North is recited, the seven to the right of number
eight raise their flags, then back to the shoulder;
when the word South is recited, the seven to the left
of number eight lift their flags, then replace to shoulders.
Each might carry in other hand a bunch of
flowers, and at the word flowers, the bouquets should
be raised as were the flags. The pupils to the left
could wear gray and those to the right, blue, in some
way—in caps, sashes or bows. Number eight should
be dressed in red, white and blue.)
There is peace, there is peace in the South and the North,
When the suns of the May-time shall call the blooms forth.
There is peace in the vale where the Tennessee runs—
Where the river grass covers the long silent guns.
There is peace in Virginia amid the tall corn;
Where Lookout’s high summit grows bright in the morn.
There is peace where the James wanders down to the main;
Where the war-torn Savannas are golden with grain.
There is peace where the squadrons of carnage have wheeled,
Fierce over Shiloh’s shell-furrowed field.
There is peace in the soil whence the palmettoes spring;
In the sad Shenandoah the harvesters sing.
There is peace in Manassas, Antietam’s dark rills;
No more throb the drum on the bare Georgian hills.
There is peace where the warriors of Gettysburg rest;
On the ramparts of Sumter the summer bird’s nest.
There is peace where the “Father of Waters” ran red,
Where the batteries of Mobile lie soundless and dead.
There is peace where the rifle hangs mantled with dust,
Where the once reeking saber is sheathed in its rust.
There is peace where the war-hoofs tore up the smooth lea,
Where the hoarse-noted cannon rang over the sea.
There is peace in the North, though her soldier is yet
Far away on the field where the fierce columns met.
There is peace in the South, though her soldier is lost
In the path where the lines of the foeman have crossed.
There is peace in the land, and the “stars and the bars”
Forever have merged in the “stripes and the stars.”
There is peace where the flowers cover the tombs,
And the Blue and the Gray now blend with the blooms.
God grant that this peace may forever be ours!
And the Blue and the Gray alike sleep neath the flowers!
(These last two lines should be recited while flags
and flowers are held in front, in prayerful attitude,
eyes of pupils glancing upward.)
RECITATION—Decoration Day.
It’s lonesome—sorto’ lonesome—it’s a Sund’y day to me,
It ’pears like—mor’n any day I nearly ever see!
Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a flutterin’ in the air,
On ev’ry soldier’s grave I’d love to lay a lily there.
They say, though, Decoration Days is generally observed—
Most ev’ry wheres—especially by soldier boys that served—
But me and mother never went—we seldom git away—
In pint of fact, we’re allus home on Decoration Day.
They say the old boys marches through the streets in columns grand,
A-follerin’ the old war tunes they’re playin’ on the band,
And citizens all jinin’ in—and little children, too—
All marchin’ under shelter of the old Red, White and Blue,
With roses! roses! roses!—ev’rybody in the town!
And crowds of girls in white, just fairly loaded down!
Oh! don’t the boys know it, from their camp across the hill?
Don’t they see their comrades comin’ and the old flag wavin’ still?
Oh! can’t they hear the bugle and the rattle of the drum?—
Ain’t they no way under heaven they can rickollect us some?
Ain’t they no way we can coax ’em through the roses, just to say
They know that every day on earth is their Decoration Day?
We’ve tried that,—me and mother,—where Elias takes his rest,
In the orchard, in his uniform, and hands across his breast,
And the flag he died fer smilin’ and a-ripplin’ in the breeze
Above his grave—and, over that—the robin in the trees.
And yet it’s lonesome—lonesome! It’s a Sund’y-day to me,
It ’pears like—more’n any day—I nearly ever see—
Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a flutterin’ in the air,
On ev’ry soldier’s grave—I’d love to lay a lily there.
ACROSTIC—Memorial Day.
(Exercise for eleven children. Each carries standard
on which the letters are pasted in red, white and
blue, and turns the letter toward the audience as the
words are recited.)
Memorial Day again has come,
When throbs the music of the drum.
Each muffled accent seems to tell
Of heroes who in battle fell.
Memories return to boys in blue,
Of vanished comrades brave and true.
On camping ground and battle plain
Alike they met with want and pain.
Rivers of blood their courses swept,
While sad Columbia mourned and wept.
In fever swamp and prison pen
Died many of her bravest men.
All honor to the soldier bands
Who followed Freedom’s stern commands.
Let each true soldier’s noble name,
Glow brightly on the books of Fame.
Deeds wrought for truth can never die
For they are penned in books on high.
A nation now in reverence stands
With sorrowing heart and flower-filled hands.
Years may into long ages glide,
These names shall still be glorified.
PAPER—Origin of Memorial Day.
General John Murray was the
originator of Memorial Day in the
North. While visiting in the South
in the winter of 1867-’68, he noticed the
touching rite of decorating soldiers’ graves
with flowers by the ladies. Being very much
impressed with this custom, he instituted a
similar one at his own home.
On the 5th day of May, 1868, Gen. John
A. Logan, who was then Commander-in-chief
of the Grand Army of the Republic,
established Decoration Day, and by a general
order, May 30, 1868, was designated as
a day set apart for the purpose of paying tribute
to the memory of those brave men who
died in defense of our country. The national
encampment held in Washington had
it incorporated in its rules and regulations,
May 11, 1870. Since then, in many of the
States, May 30th has been established as a
holiday, and it is the universal custom to
decorate the graves of all ex-soldiers, thus
making it one of the most patriotic days of
the year, wherein all classes unite in paying
honor to our heroic dead, and feel a conscious
pride in being able to thus show respect
for their memory and the cause for
which they fought.
SONG:—“The Star Spangled Banner.”
EXERCISE.
(A large urn or vase is placed on a stand decorated
with the national colors and a bow of black ribbon.
Around the rim of the vase a beautiful wreath should
be placed. The stand should be at the front of the
rostrum, so the pupils may pass behind it. The pupils
representing the various wars should be dressed
if possible in the costumes of that day—military costumes.
Beside the urn, a girl representing Liberty
should stand holding a large flag at half-mast, she
should dress in white and wear sash of the national
colors. After reciting, each pupil stands in rear of
Liberty. When coming upon the stage, each pupil
salutes the flag before reciting and stands on opposite
side of urn while reciting. When through,
he gracefully deposits his bouquet into the urn. At
close of exercise the school arises and salutes the
flag and repeats the pledge.)
Liberty (Enters carrying flag and recites standing at
right of urn; when through reciting casts her
flowers into the urn.)
“Strew with flowers the soldier’s grave,
Plant each lovely thing that grows;
Let the summer breezes wave
The calla lily and the rose;
White and red—the cause, the price!
Right, upheld by sacrifice.
Let the summer’s perfumed breath,
Fragrant with the sweetest flowers,
Charm the sadness out of death,
Glorify the mourners’ hours,
Freighted with their prayers, arise
Incense of their sacrifice.
’Tis not valor that we praise,
Thirst for glory, love of strife;
Gentle hearts from quiet ways,
Turned to save a nation’s life,
Lest in jealous fragments torn
Freedom’s land should come to scorn.
O’er the Gray, as o’er the Blue,
Nature’s bursting tears will flow;
Both were brave, and both were true
And fought for all they loved below.
Pity! nor forbid the tear
Shed above so sad a bier.
Cherish, then, the patriot fires,
Honor loyalty, and trust
In God that Freedom ne’er expires
Where virtue guards the martyr’s dust,
Who counted life as little worth,
And saved the imperiled Hope of Earth.”
OUR NATION’S PATRIOTS.
I had heard the muskets’ rattle of the April running battle;
Lord Percey’s hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats still;
But a deadly chill comes o’er me, as the day looms up before me,
When a thousand men lay bleeding on the slopes of Bunker Hill.
Here are lilies for the valorous, and roses for the brave;
And laurel for the victor’s crown, and rue for lowly grave.
There’s crimson for the blood that flowed that Freedom might be free,
And golden for the hearts of gold that died for you and me;
Till love no more is loving, we lift our souls and say,
For liberty find loyalty we bless their names to-day!
Strew the fair garlands where slumber the dead,
Ring out the strains like the swell of the sea,
Heartfelt the tribute we lay on each bed.
Sound o’er the brave the refrain of the free.
Sound the refrain of the loyal and free,
Visit each sleeper and hallow each bed,
Wave the starred banner from seacoast to sea
Grateful the living, and honored the dead.
Cuban War Pupil (carrying Cuban Flag.)
New graves we crown with flowers to-day
New homes shall saddened be;
For loved ones sleeping far away,
And some beneath the sea.
’Twas for humanity and right
Our loved boys fought and died;
To lift the islands into light
And break the Spanish pride.
We’ll wrap the Bible in the Flag
And back them with our might,
And bear them over sea and crag,
In lofty eagle’s flight;
And break the bands of heathen night,
And set the islands free;
Till Freedom sheds her glorious light
O’er every land and sea.
Liberty (in prayerful attitude, the boys
standing in rear with hats lifted.)
O God! look down upon the land which Thou hast loved so well,
And grant that in unbroken truth her children still may dwell;
Nor while the grass grows on the hill, and streams flow through the vale,
May they forget their fathers’ faith, or in their covenant fail!
God keep the fairest, noblest land that lies beneath the sky—
Our country, our whole country, whose fame shall never die.
PLEDGE.
(All stand; salute flag; and repeat pledge.)
“We pledge allegiance to our flag
and the republic for which it
stands—one nation, indivisible,
with liberty and justice for all.”
SONG—America.
PROGRAMME FOR WASHINGTON’S BIRTHDAY.
MUSIC—“The Star-Spangled Banner.”
RECITATION—Washington Enigma.
To be given by ten little girls with evergreen or
large printed letters hung around their necks by a
black thread and adjusted to the proper height. Let
the letter be turned as the child speaks.
In the wailing winds my first
Speaks in faintly murmuring tones.
While my second’s cry will burst
In the martyr’s latest groans.—
How the noisome serpents scare.
In them finds my third a place.
In the homes which mothers share,
Rules my fourth with gentle grace.
Watch the Indian’s scalping knife,
And my fifth shall greet your sight.
But my sixth is brought to life
In the moonless ebon night.
See the gambler’s greed and note
How my seventh rules supreme.
The latest presidential vote
Holds secure my eighth, I deem.
From our sorrow, from our woe,
None can drive my ninth away.
Mark the wailing infant—lo!
There my tenth holds fullest sway.
Join from first to tenth each part,
And you’ll find a noble name,
Written on each patriot’s heart,
Glorious in our country’s fame.
RECITATION—Washington’s Day.
For a little boy.
Oh! how the world remembers!
It is many and many a day
Since the patriot, George Washington,
Grew old and passed away.
And yet to-day we are keeping
In memory of his birth,
And his deeds of truth and valor
Are told at every hearth.
How he fought for independence
All little schoolboys know;
And why he signed the declaration
So many years ago.
To be as great as Washington
I could not if I would;
But I’ve made up my mind that I
Will try to be as good.
RECITATION—A Little Boy’s Hatchet Story.
When the great and good George Washington
Was a little boy like me,
He took his little hatchet
And chopped down a cherry tree.
And when his papa called him,
He then began to cry,
“I did it, oh, I did it;
I cannot tell a lie!”
His papa didn’t scold at all,
But said, “You noble youth,
I’d gladly lose ten cherry trees
To have you tell the truth!”
But I myself am not quite clear;
For if I took my hatchet
And chopped my papa’s cherry tree,
Oh, wouldn’t I just catch it!
READING—Maxims of Washington.
Adopted by him at the age of fifteen.
“Neither laugh, nor speak, nor listen
when older people are talking
together.”
“Say not anything that will
hurt another, either in fun or in earnest.”
“If you say anything funny, don’t laugh
at it yourself, but let others enjoy it.”
“When another person speaks, listen yourself,
and try not to disturb others.”
“Obey and honor your father and mother.”
“Every action in company ought to be
with some sign of respect to those present.”
“When you meet with one of greater
quality than yourself, stop and retire, especially
if it be at a door or any strait place, to
give way for him to pass.”
“Speak not evil of the absent, for it is
unjust.”
“Show not yourself glad at the misfortune
of another, though he were your enemy.”
“Be not curious to know the affairs of
others; neither approach to those that speak
in private.”
“Undertake not what you cannot perform,
but be careful to keep your promises.”
“Labor to keep alive in your breast that
little spark of celestial fire called conscience.”
SINGING—Tune: “My Country.”
Once more we celebrate
Birthday of him so great,
So true and brave;
Who struggled not in vain
Liberty to attain,
Breaking a tyrant’s chain
His land to save.
Bravely the patriot band
Fought ’neath his sure command
And freedom won;
Honor those soldiers all,
Who did for freedom fall,
Who followed at the call
Of Washington.
While shines in heaven the sun,
The name of Washington
Shall glow with light;
He feared no tyrant grand,
But foremost in command,
Did like a mountain stand
For cause of right.
ORATION—The Father of his Country.
The birthday of the “Father of his
Country!” May it ever be freshly remembered
by American hearts! May
it ever re-awaken in them a filial veneration
for his memory; ever rekindle the fires of
patriotic regard to the country he loved so
well; to which he gave his youthful vigor
and his youthful energy, during the perilous
period of the early Indian warfare; to which
he devoted his life, in the maturity of his
powers, in the field; to which again he offered
the counsels of his wisdom and his experience,
as President of the Convention that
framed our Constitution; which he guided
and directed while in the Chair of State, and
for which the last prayer of his earthly supplication
was offered up, when it came the
moment for him so well, and so grandly, and
I so calmly, to die. He was the first man of
the time in which he grew. His memory is
I first and most sacred in our love; and ever
hereafter, till the last drop of blood shall
freeze in the last American heart, his name
shall be a spell of power and might.
Yes, there is one personal, one vast felicity,
which no man can share with him. It was
the daily beauty and towering and matchless
glory of his life, which enabled him to create
his country, and, at the same time, secure an
undying love and regard from the whole
American people. “The first in the hearts
of his countrymen!” Yes, first! He has
our first and most fervent love. Undoubtedly
there were brave and wise and good men,
before his day, in every colony. But the
American Nation, as a Nation, I do not
reckon to have begun before 1774. And
the first love of that young America was
Washington. The first word she lisped
was his name. Her earliest breath spoke
it. It still is her proud ejaculation; and
it will be the last gasp of her expiring
life!
Yes, others of our great men have been
appreciated—many admired by all. But him
we love. Him we all love. About and
around him we call up no dissentient and discordant
and dissatisfied elements—no sectional
prejudice nor bias,—no party, no creed,
no dogma of politics. None of these shall
assail him. Yes, when the storm of battle
blows darkest and rages highest, the memory
of Washington shall nerve every American
arm, and cheer every American heart. It
shall relume that Promethean fire, that sublime
flame of patriotism, that devoted love of
country, which his words have commended,
which his example has consecrated. Well
did Lord Byron write:
