Children of Christmas and Others (Ebook)

Night of the winter—winter and night in the city of Nome,

There where the many are dwelling, but no man yet has a home!

Desolate league upon league, ice-pack and tundra and hill;

And the dark of the year when the gold-hunter’s rocker and dredge are still

By the fire that is no man’s hearth,—by the fire more precious than gold,—

They are passing the time as they may, encompassed by storm and by cold:

And their talk is of pay-streak and bedrock, of claim by seashore or creek,

Of the brigantine fast in the ice-pack this many and many a week;

Wraiths of the mist and the snow encumber her canvas and deck,—

And the Eskimos swear that a crew out of ghostland are crowding the wreck!

Thus, in the indolent dark of the year, in the city of Nome,

They were passing the time as they might, but ever their thoughts turned home.

Said the Man from the East, “In God’s country now (where we’d all like to be),

You may bet your life there’s a big boom on for the Christmas Tree;

And we’d have one here, but there isn’t a shrub as high as my hand,

Nor the smell of spruce, for a hundred miles, in all this land!”

Then the Man from the South arose: “I allow, if the Tree could be found,

I’d ’tend to the fruit myself, and stand ye a treat all round!”

“Done!” said the Man from the West (the youngest of all was he).

“I’ll lose my claim in the ruby sand—or I’ll find the Tree!”