The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump-a right jolly old elf;
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

E

-Clement Clarke Moore

Christmas Everywhere 1

1

VERYWHERE, everywhere, Christmas tonight! Christmas in lands of the fir-tree and pine, Christmas in lands of the palm-tree and vine, Christmas where snow peaks stand solemn and white, Christmas where cornfields stand sunny and bright. Christmas where children are hopeful and gay, Christmas where old men are patient and gray,

Christmas where peace, like a dove in his flight,
Broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight;
Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight!

1 Taken from "Christmas Songs and Easter Carols," by Phillips Brooks. Copyright 1903, by E. P. Dutton & Co.

For the Christ-child who comes is the Master of all;
No palace too great, no cottage too small.

-Phillips Brooks

CHURCH

It Isn't the Church-It's You

F you want to have the kind of a church
Like the kind of a church you like,
You needn't slip your clothes in a grip
And start on a long, long hike.
You'll only find what you left behind,
For there's nothing really new.

It's a knock at yourself when you knock

It isn't the church-it's you.

your church;

When everything seems to be going wrong,
And trouble seems everywhere brewing;

When prayer-meeting, Young People's meeting, and all,
Seem simmering slowly-stewing,

Just take a look at yourself and say,

"What's the use of being blue?"

Are you doing your "bit" to make things "hit"?

It isn't the church—it's you.

It's really strange sometimes, don't you know,
That things go as well as they do,

When we think of the little-the very small mite-
We add to the work of the few.

We sit, and stand round, and complain of what's done,

And do very little but fuss.

Are we bearing our share of the burdens to bear?
It isn't the church-it's us.

So, if you want to have the kind of a church
Like the kind of a church you like,

Put off your guile, and put on your best smile,
And hike, my brother, just hike,

To the work in hand that has to be done-
The work of saving a few.

It isn't the church that is wrong, my boy;

It isn't the church-it's you.

-Anon.

Some Who Do Not Go to Church

R. SPEEDS will clean his auto,

MR

Mr. Spurrs will groom his horse,

Mr. Gadds will go to Coney,

With the little Gadds, of course.
Mr. Flite will put carbolic

On his homing pigeon's perch,
Mr. Weeds will mow his bluegrass,
Mr. Jones will go to church.

Mr. Cleet will drive a golf ball,

Mr. Tiller steer his boat,

Mr. Popper on his cycle,

Round and round the State will mote.

Mr. Swatt will watch a ball game,

Mr. Stake and son will search
Through the bosky wood for mushrooms,
Mr. Wilks will go to church.

Do you ask me what's the matter?
Do you wonder what is wrong?
When the nation turns from worship,
Sermon, prayer, and sacred song?
Why do people rush for pleasure,
Leave religion in the lurch?
Why prefer a padded auto

To the cushioned pew in church?

Reader, well I know the answer,
But if I should speak aloud,
What I think is the real reason,

It would queer me with the crowd.
You'll be popular, dear reader,
When you wield the critic's birch,
You'll be safely in the fashion
If you blame things on the church.

-Anon.

That Radio Religion

NOW

OW whether folks are Methodists,
Or Baptists, it's the same;

Or whether they profess to faiths

If they elect to stay at home,
To churches never go,
Whatever be the creed they own,
They've swapped for-Radio.

It's nice to loll in easy chairs,
In comfort when it rains,
And listen in to cheerful songs

And distant organ strains;
And not be worried by the fact-
The passing plate is due
To pause a second at your place
For "sustenance" from you.

This Radio Religion may

For shut-ins do a heap;

But for those well enough to go-
There's little good to reap;

And whether folks are Methodists,
Or Baptists, here or there,

No church on earth can be replaced
By "service" on the air!

-William Ludlum