The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand; The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand; The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea; And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee. They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day; But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay. We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout, And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about. All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North; All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth; All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread, For very life and nature we tacked from head to head. We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide race roared; But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard: So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high, And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye. The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; The good red fires were burning bright in every 'long-shore home; The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about. The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer; For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year) This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn, And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born. And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea; And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way, To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas Day. They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall. 'All hands to loose top gallant sails,' I heard the captain call. 'By the Lord, she'll never stand it,' our first mate, Jackson, cried. … 'It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson,' he replied. She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good, And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood. As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night, We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane The redbreast looks in vain For hips and haws, Lo, shining flowers upon my window-pane The silver pencil of the winter draws. When all the snowy hill And the bare woods are still; When snipes are silent in the frozen bogs, And all the garden garth is whelmed in mire, Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs-- More fair than roses, lo, the flowers of fire!

Awake, glad heart! get up and sing! It is the birth-day of thy King. Awake! awake! The Sun doth shake Light from his locks, and all the way Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day. Awake, awake! hark how th’ wood rings; Winds whisper, and the busy springs A concert make; Awake! awake! Man is their high-priest, and should rise To offer up the sacrifice. I would I were some bird, or star, Flutt’ring in woods, or lifted far Above this inn And road of sin! Then either star or bird should be Shining or singing still to thee. And let once more, by mystic birth, The Lord of life be born in earth.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas Let your heart be light From now on, our troubles will be out of sight Have yourself a merry little Christmas Make the Yuletide gay From now on, our troubles will be miles away Here we are as in olden days Happy golden days of yore Faithful friends who are dear to us Will be near to us once more Through the years we all will be together If the fates allow Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow And have yourself a merry little Christmas now