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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384405" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Grandpa's Christmas</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In his great cushioned chair by the fender<br>An old man sits dreaming to-night,<br>His withered hands, licked by the tender,<br>Warm rays of the red anthracite,<br>Are folded before him, all listless;<br>His dim eyes are fixed on the blaze,<br>While over him sweeps the resistless<br>Flood-tide of old days.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He hears not the mirth in the hallway,<br>He hears not the sounds of good cheer,<br>That through the old homestead ring alway<br>In the glad Christmas-time of the year.<br>He heeds not the chime of sweet voices<br>As the last gifts are hung on the tree.<br>In a long-vanished day he rejoices-<br>In his lost Used to be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>He has gone back across dead Decembers<br>To his childhood's fair land of delight;<br>And his mother's sweet smile he remembers,<br>As he hangs up his stocking at night.<br>He remembers the dream-haunted slumber<br>All broken and restless because<br>Of the visions that came without number<br>Of dear Santa Claus.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Again, in his manhood's beginning,<br>He sees himself thrown on the world,<br>And into the vortex of sinning<br>By Pleasure's strong arms he is hurled.<br>He hears the sweet Christmas bells ringing,<br>'Repent ye, repent ye, and pray;'<br>But he joins with his comrades in singing<br>A bacchanal lay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Again he stands under the holly<br>With a blushing face lifted to his;<br>For love has been stronger than folly,<br>And has turned him from vice unto bliss;<br>And the whole world is lit with new glory<br>As the sweet vows are uttered again,<br>While the Christmas bells tell the old story<br>Of peace unto men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Again, with his little brood 'round him,<br>He sits by the fair mother-wife;<br>He knows that the angels have crowned him<br>With the truest, best riches of life;<br>And the hearts of the children, untroubled,<br>Are filled with the gay Christmas-tide;<br>And the gifts for sweet Maudie are doubled,<br>'Tis her birthday, beside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Again,-ah, dear Jesus, have pity-<br>He finds in the chill, waning day,<br>That one has come home from the city-<br>Frail Maudie, whom love led astray.<br>She lies with her babe on her bosom-<br>Half-hid by the snow's fleecy spread;<br>A bud and a poor trampled blossom-<br>And both are quite dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So fair and so fragile! just twenty-<br>How mocking the bells sound to-night!<br>She starved in this great land of plenty,<br>When she tried to grope back to the light.<br>Christ, are Thy disciples inhuman,<br>Or only for men hast Thou died?<br>No mercy is shown to a woman<br>Who once steps aside.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Again he leans over the shrouded<br>Still form of the mother and wife;<br>Very lonely the way seems, and clouded,<br>As he looks down the vista of life.<br>With the sweet Christmas chimes there is blended<br>The knell for a life that is done,<br>And he knows that his joys are all ended<br>And his waiting begun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So long have the years been, so lonely,<br>As he counts them by Christmases gone.<br>'I am homesick,' he murmurs; 'if only<br>The Angel would lead the way on.<br>I am cold, in this chill winter weather;<br>Why, Maudie, dear, where have you been?<br>And you, too, sweet wife-and together-<br>O Christ, let me in.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The children ran in from the hallway,<br>'Were you calling us, grandpa?' they said.<br>Then shrank, with that fear that comes alway<br>When young eyes look their first on the dead.<br>The freedom so longed for is given.<br>The children speak low and draw near:<br>'Dear grandpa keeps Christmas in Heaven<br>With grandma, this year.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384405" data-title="Grandpa's Christmas de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="In his great cushioned chair by the fender
An old man sits dreaming to-night,
His withered hands, licked by the tender,
Warm rays of the red anthracite,
Are folded before him, all listless;
His dim eyes are fixed on the blaze,
While over him sweep..."></div>
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