Christmas Eve At Farmer Gray’s

‘Twas Christmas eve, the farmhouse was cheery, bright and warm,

And farmer Gray stirred up the fires and grumbled at the storm.

“Jus’ like as not the boys won’t come, it snows as like persest,

“An’ yet,” said he, “they allus do, an’ – hark! well, I’ll be blest

“If here they ain’t a-comin’ now, I hear ‘em whoop an’ shout;

Swing wide the door there, Mother Gray, an’ let the light shine out.”

It was a happy family that around the fireplace sat,

Three boys home from the city, namely, Amos, John and Nat.

And many thrilling stories of their busy city life,

Were listened to with wonder by the farmer and his wife.

Then the conversation drifted to the time when they last had met,

When Amos played the organ and John the old cornet.

And Nat tuned up his fiddle, while the aged couple sung

The grand old tunes they long had known – “aye, how the old house rung,”

Said farmer Gray, “An’ now tonight I want the same ag’in,”

“Your cornet’s in the closet John; here, Nat’s your violin.”

“What? out of practice? hain’t played sence? sho, sho, you Nat an’ John;”

“We’ll hev a chorus now so strong the shingles won’t stay on.”

O! for another night like that

     I passed at farmer Gray’s;

When parents, Amos, John and Nat

     Went o’er the grand old lays.

They filled the house with joy and love,

     While rapture round me stole;

They echoed through the rooms above,

     And echoed through my soul.

Nov. 10, ‘91

  Pub. in

Jean White’s “Leader”

    Boston