Famous Holiday Poems

Famous Holiday Poems

Popular Poems for the Holiday Seasons

Holidays are many things to many people. For some, the primary function of a holiday is its religious significance. It is a time when specific spiritual opportunities are available to experience. For others holidays are primarily about family getting together. Most people do not work and so there is an opportunity to renew family bonds. Relatives that you haven't seen in awhile join together with you to celebrate the family that you belong too. People that do not have large families or may not want to join together with them may celebrate with friends.

23 Classic Holiday Poems by Famous Poets

  1. 1. Thanksgiving

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    When children grow up and move away, it’s always special when they come back together for the holidays. It’s a chance for them to reminisce on days gone by and reconnect with each other. In this poem, though some family members moved into the city, when they come home, they are able to be who they truly are. This is seen with the use of dialect. Edgar Guest (1881-1959) wrote many poems that reflected the typical American in the first half of the 20th century.

    Gettin’ together to smile an’ rejoice,
    An’ eatin’ an’ laughin’ with folks of your choice;
    An’ kissin’ the girls an’ declarin’ that they
    Are growin’ more beautiful day after day;
    Chattin’ an’ braggin’ a bit with the men,
    Buildin’ the old family circle again;
    Livin’ the wholesome an’ old-fashioned cheer,
    Just for awhile at the end of the year.

    Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door
    And under the old roof we gather once more
    Just as we did when the youngsters were small;
    Mother’s a little bit grayer, that’s all.
    Father’s a little bit older, but still
    Ready to romp an’ to laugh with a will.
    Here we are back at the table again
    Tellin’ our stories as women an’ men.

    Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer;
    Oh, but we’re grateful an’ glad to be there.
    Home from the east land an’ home from the west,
    Home with the folks that are dearest an’ best.
    Out of the sham of the cities afar
    We’ve come for a time to be just what we are.
    Here we can talk of ourselves an’ be frank,
    Forgettin’ position an’ station an’ rank.

    Give me the end of the year an’ its fun
    When most of the plannin’ an’ toilin’ is done;
    Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,
    Let me sit down with the ones I love best,
    Hear the old voices still ringin’ with song,
    See the old faces unblemished by wrong,
    See the old table with all of its chairs
    An’ I’ll put soul in my Thanksgivin’ prayers.

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  3. 2. A Friend's Greeting

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    Having a close friend is an incredible blessing. It means having someone who’s always there to listen and encourage. In this famous poem by Edgar Guest (1881-1959), he shares of all the great friendship qualities he’d like to return to someone who has displayed them to him. This poem is made up of octaves (eight-line stanzas). It also has a strong sense of structure since most of the stanzas begin with “I’d like to…”

    I'd like to be the sort of friend
         that you have been to me;
    I'd like to be the help that you've been
         always glad to be;
    I'd like to mean as much to you
         each minute of the day
    As you have meant, old friend of mine,
         to me along the way.

    I'd like to do the big things
         and the splendid things for you,
    To brush the gray out of your skies
         and leave them only blue;
    I'd like to say the kindly things
         that I so oft have heard,
    And feel that I could rouse your soul
         the way that mine you've stirred.

    I'd like to give back the joy
         that you have given me,
    Yet that were wishing you a need
         I hope will never be;
    I'd like to make you feel
         as rich as I, who travel on
    Undaunted in the darkest hours
         with you to lean upon.

    I'm wishing at this Christmas time
         that I could but repay
    A portion of the gladness
         that you've strewn along the way;
    And could I have one wish this year,
         this only would it be:
    I'd like to be the sort of friend
         that you have been to me.

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  5. 3. 'Twas The Night Before Christmas

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    Clement Clarke Moore wrote this poem in 1822 for his own children. It is also referenced with the title, "A Visit from St. Nicholas". The poem is the origin for many of the modern notions of Santa Claus, his plump and cheerful white-bearded look, the names of his reindeer, and even the tradition that he brings toys to children.

    'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
    Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
    The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
    In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
    The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
    While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
    And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
    Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
    When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
    I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
    Away to the window I flew like a flash,
    Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
    The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
    Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
    When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
    But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
    With a little old driver so lively and quick,
    I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
    More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
    And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
    "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now Prancer and Vixen!
    On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blixen!
    To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
    Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
    As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
    When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
    So up to the housetop the coursers they flew
    With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too--
    And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
    The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
    As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
    Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
    He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
    And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
    A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
    And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
    His eyes--how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
    His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
    His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
    And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow;
    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 bowl full 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!"

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  6. 4. At Christmas

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    Christmas is a time that seems to bring out the best in humanity, which famous poet Edgar Guest (1881-1959) captures in this poem. Christmas is a time of year that people are quicker to think of others above themselves, and they do not worry about the petty things that consume them throughout the year.

    A man is at his finest
         towards the finish of the year;
    He is almost what he should be
         when the Christmas season is here;
    Then he's thinking more of others
         than he's thought the months before,
    And the laughter of his children
         is a joy worth toiling for.
    He is less a selfish creature than
         at any other time;
    When the Christmas spirit rules him
         he comes close to the sublime.

    When it's Christmas man is bigger
         and is better in his part;
    He is keener for the service
         that is prompted by the heart.
    All the petty thoughts and narrow
         seem to vanish for awhile
    And the true reward he's seeking
         is the glory of a smile.
    Then for others he is toiling and
         somehow it seems to me
    That at Christmas he is almost
         what God wanted him to be.

    If I had to paint a picture of a man
         I think I'd wait
    Till he'd fought his selfish battles
         and had put aside his hate.
    I'd not catch him at his labors
         when his thoughts are all of pelf,
    On the long days and the dreary
         when he's striving for himself.
    I'd not take him when he's sneering,
         when he's scornful or depressed,
    But I'd look for him at Christmas
         when he's shining at his best.

    Man is ever in a struggle
         and he's oft misunderstood;
    There are days the worst that's in him
         is the master of the good,
    But at Christmas kindness rules him
         and he puts himself aside
    And his petty hates are vanquished
         and his heart is opened wide.
    Oh, I don't know how to say it,
         but somehow it seems to me
    That at Christmas man is almost
         what God sent him here to be.

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  7. 5. Ring Out, Wild Bells

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    This poem published in, "In Memoriam A.H.H.", is an elegy (a poem of lament for someone who has passed away) and uses an ABBA Rhyme Scheme. It was written about Alfred Tennyson’s friend, Arthur Henry Hallam, who was engaged to Tennyson’s sister. Arthur Henry Hallam died suddenly at the age of twenty-two. In this poem, Tennyson (1809-1892) shares about casting aside all the bad and painful things of the year. Due to the heartache that year brought him, Tennyson was ready to put the grief behind him. This could also be considered a New Year’s poem about starting anew. Alfred Tennyson’s first son was named Hallam, after his best friend.

    Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
        The flying cloud, the frosty light:
        The year is dying in the night;
    Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

    Ring out the old, ring in the new,
        Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
        The year is going, let him go;
    Ring out the false, ring in the true.

    Ring out the grief that saps the mind
        For those that here we see no more;
        Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
    Ring in redress to all mankind.

    Ring out a slowly dying cause,
        And ancient forms of party strife;
        Ring in the nobler modes of life,
    With sweeter manners, purer laws.

    Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
        The faithless coldness of the times;
        Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
    But ring the fuller minstrel in.

    Ring out false pride in place and blood,
        The civic slander and the spite;
        Ring in the love of truth and right,
    Ring in the common love of good.

    Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
        Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
        Ring out the thousand wars of old,
    Ring in the thousand years of peace.

    Ring in the valiant man and free,
        The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
        Ring out the darkness of the land,
    Ring in the Christ that is to be.

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  8. 6. The Year

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    In this famous New Year’s poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, she shares the reality of each new year. Time continues to move forward—years come and they go. Every new year is marked by great expectations, but the reality is that each year is filled with both joyous and sorrowful moments. This poem is made up of rhyming couplets (two-line stanzas).

    What can be said in New Year rhymes,
    That’s not been said a thousand times?

    The new years come, the old years go,
    We know we dream, we dream we know.

    We rise up laughing with the light,
    We lie down weeping with the night.

    We hug the world until it stings,
    We curse it then and sigh for wings.

    We live, we love, we woo, we wed,
    We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.

    We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,
    And that’s the burden of the year.

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  9. 7. Christmas Bells

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was inspired to write this poem in 1863 during the Civil War when his son went off to fight for the Union against his wishes. While this song is about Christmas time, there is an underlying tone of the war (The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail). This poem is the basis for the Christmas carol "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."

    Analysis of Form and Technique

    I heard the bells on Christmas Day
    Their old, familiar carols play,
    And wild and sweet
    The words repeat
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    And thought how, as the day had come,
    The belfries of all Christendom
    Had rolled along
    The unbroken song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    Till ringing, singing on its way,
    The world revolved from night to day,
    A voice, a chime,
    A chant sublime
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    Then from each black, accursed mouth
    The cannon thundered in the South,
    And with the sound
    The carols drowned
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    It was as if an earthquake rent
    The hearth-stones of a continent,
    And made forlorn
    The households born
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    And in despair I bowed my head;
    "There is no peace on earth," I said;
    For hate is strong,
    And mocks the song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

    Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
    "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
    The Wrong shall fail,
    The Right prevail,
    With peace on earth, good-will to men."

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    It's wonderful. I love how he added that he believes in God. Best poem ever.

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  10. 8. Christmas Carol

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    Sara Teasdale recounts the birth of Jesus and all who came to visit him. Some were wealthy, while others were poor. Some resided on Earth, while others came from heaven. All came to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Sara Teasdale was an American poet born in Missouri on August 8, 1884. She had six collections of poetry published during her lifetime and one published posthumously.

    The kings they came from out the south,
       All dressed in ermine fine;
    They bore Him gold and chrysoprase,
       And gifts of precious wine.

    The shepherds came from out the north,
       Their coats were brown and old;
    They brought Him little new-born lambs—
       They had not any gold.

    The wise men came from out the east,
       And they were wrapped in white;
    The star that led them all the way
       Did glorify the night.

    The angels came from heaven high,
       And they were clad with wings;
    And lo, they brought a joyful song
       The host of heaven sings.

    The kings they knocked upon the door,
       The wise men entered in,
    The shepherds followed after them
       To hear the song begin.

    The angels sang through all the night
       Until the rising sun,
    But little Jesus fell asleep
       Before the song was done.

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  11. 9. Thanksgiving

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    Ella Wheeler Wilcox was an American author and poet who lived from 1850-1919. She became known as a poet by those who lived in her home state of Wisconsin before she graduated high school. Although she came from a poor farm family, her mother enjoyed literature and encouraged her love of reading and writing. In this poem, she reminds the reader that if we focus on our worries, that’s all we’ll see, but when we start looking for our blessings (even in the midst of tough moments), we will be filled with joy. This poem is made up of octaves, or eight line stanzas.

    We walk on starry fields of white
    And do not see the daisies;
    For blessings common in our sight
    We rarely offer praises.
    We sigh for some supreme delight
    To crown our lives with splendor,
    And quite ignore our daily store
    Of pleasures sweet and tender.

    Our cares are bold and push their way
    Upon our thought and feeling.
    They hang about us all the day,
    Our time from pleasure stealing.
    So unobtrusive many a joy
    We pass by and forget it,
    But worry strives to own our lives
    And conquers if we let it.

    There's not a day in all the year
    But holds some hidden pleasure,
    And looking back, joys oft appear
    To brim the past's wide measure.
    But blessings are like friends, I hold,
    Who love and labor near us.
    We ought to raise our notes of praise
    While living hearts can hear us.

    Full many a blessing wears the guise
    Of worry or of trouble.
    Farseeing is the soul and wise
    Who knows the mask is double.
    But he who has the faith and strength
    To thank his God for sorrow
    Has found a joy without alloy
    To gladden every morrow.

    We ought to make the moments notes
    Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;
    The hours and days a silent phrase
    Of music we are living.
    And so the theme should swell and grow
    As weeks and months pass o'er us,
    And rise sublime at this good time,
    A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

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  12. 10. A Nation's Strength

    • By William Ralph Emerson

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    William Ralph Emerson was an architect and second cousin of the famous poet Ralph Waldo Emerson. In addition to designing many houses and inns, William Ralph Emerson helped to design some of the first buildings at the National Zoo in Washington, DC. In this poem, Emerson reflects on the aspects that make a nation strong. It’s not the wealth, weapons, or pride of a nation. Instead, it’s the determined, brave, and truthful people who are the pillars of a nation.

    What makes a nation's pillars high
    And its foundations strong?
    What makes it mighty to defy
    The foes that round it throng?

    It is not gold. Its kingdoms grand
    Go down in battle shock;
    Its shafts are laid on sinking sand,
    Not on abiding rock.

    Is it the sword? Ask the red dust
    Of empires passed away;
    The blood has turned their stones to rust,
    Their glory to decay.

    And is it pride? Ah, that bright crown
    Has seemed to nations sweet;
    But God has struck its luster down
    In ashes at his feet.

    Not gold but only men can make
    A people great and strong;
    Men who for truth and honor's sake
    Stand fast and suffer long.

    Brave men who work while others sleep,
    Who dare while others fly...
    They build a nation's pillars deep
    And lift them to the sky.

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  13. 11. Holidays

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    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was an American poet who lived from 1807-1882. He experienced tragedy in his life with the unexpected death of two wives. In this poem, he shows that we all have special moments in our lives that we celebrate, and they become our own personal holidays. They are days to remember certain people or events that have impacted our lives. Longfellow uses similes in this poem to show the purity of those meaningful holidays.

    The holiest of all holidays are those
    Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
    The secret anniversaries of the heart,
    When the full river of feeling overflows;--
    The happy days unclouded to their close;
    The sudden joys that out of darkness start
    As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
    Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
    White as the gleam of a receding sail,
    White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
    White as the whitest lily on a stream,
    These tender memories are;--a fairy tale
    Of some enchanted land we know not where,
    But lovely as a landscape in a dream.

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  14. 12. New-Year's Eve And New-Year's Day

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    Bessie Rayner Parkes was an English feminist who lived from 1829-1925. This poem shares how we eagerly bid a year goodbye and await all that is to come in the next year.

    Good bye, Old Year!
    And with thee take
    Thanks for the gifts to every land
    Thou broughtest in thy bounteous hand,
    And all that thou hast taught to hearts thy lingering steps forsake.
    Good bye, Old Year!
    The Past awaiteth thee.
    Who ruleth in her power alone
    The kingdom of Oblivion.
    Silent she sits in ebon chair;
    Falling mists of dusky hair
    Veil her dark eyes' glorious shine,
    Full of wise help, and truth divine.
    Silent, unless a fitful sound,
    As from some cavern underground,
    Steal from her lips; the company
    Of ancient Years that round her be,
    Then chanting, one by one, give tongue
    To old experience in their song.

    Good bye, Old Year!
    Thou goest forth alone,
    As we shall do: thy pages gay,
    Seasons and months who round thee lay,
    Attend thee to Earth's farthest verge, then back! to greet thy son.

    Hail, New-born Year!
    Cradled in morning clouds
    Golden and white. I cannot see
    Thy face--'tis wrapp'd in mystery;
    But Spring for thee is painting flowers,
    And Summer decks her woven bowers;
    Rich Autumn's sheaves will soon be reap'd,
    With store of fruits in sunbeams steep'd,
    And one by one with gentle hand folds back thy sunlit shrouds.

    Hail, New-born Year!
    Shining and beautiful,
    Thou wilt step forth in plenitude
    Of youth and its rejoicing mood.
    Last child of the half-century,
    And time of coming victory
    Over the spirits of night and sin,
    Whose howlings of defeat begin:
    Thou bringest hope, and labour bless'd
    In visions of successful rest,
    Bringest great thoughts, and actions wrought
    In fire upon that forge of thought,
    And with the soul of earnestness I think thy youths are full.

    Hail, New-born Year!
    My utterance is too weak
    To tell of all I think thou bringest,
    To echo back the song thou singest;
    But the very winds of Heaven for those who listen to them, speak!

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  15. 13. The Holy Night

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    Elizabeth Barrett Browning was an English poet who lived from 1806-1861. Her first book of poems was published privately by her father at the age of 14. She was a Christian who taught herself Greek and Hebrew so she could better study the Bible, and this poem has religious roots in the retelling of Christ’s birth.

    We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem;
    The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,
    Softened their horned faces
    To almost human gazes
    Toward the newly Born:
    The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks
    Brought their visionary looks,
    As yet in their astonied hearing rung
    The strange sweet angel-tongue:
    The magi of the East, in sandals worn,
    Knelt reverent, sweeping round,
    With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground,
    The incense, myrrh, and gold
    These baby hands were impotent to hold:
    So let all earthlies and celestials wait
    Upon thy royal state.
    Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

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  16. 14. Halloween Is Nearly Here

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    Picking out Halloween costumes is a lot of fun for children. The options are endless. In this poem, one child knows exactly what he wants to be…something that will cause fright for other kids.

    Halloween is nearly here.
    I’ve got my costume planned.
    It’s sure to be the most horrific
    outfit in the land.

    If you should see me coming
    you may scream and hide your head.
    My get-up will, I guarantee,
    fill every heart with dread.

    My costume may cause nightmares.
    Yes, my mask may stop your heart.
    You might just shriek and wet yourself,
    then squeamishly depart.

    And yet, I won’t be dressing as
    you might expect me to.
    I will not be a vampire
    or ghost that hollers “boo!”

    I won’t look like a werewolf
    or a goblin or a ghoul,
    or even like a slimy blob
    of deadly, dripping drool.

    I will not be a zombie
    or some other horrid creature.
    No, this year I’ll be much, much worse…
    I’m dressing as a teacher.

    “Halloween is Nearly Here” copyright © 2012 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved. Published in The Armpit of Doom. Reprinted by permission of the author. www.poetry4kids.com

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  17. 15. We Bought A Lot Of Candy Bars

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    Buying Halloween candy early enough in the season provides a lot of options, but sometimes having it in the house for too long before October 31st can be a problem.

    We bought a lot of candy bars.
    We thought it would be neat
    to have a ton for all the kids
    who came to trick-or-treat.

    We bought them early in the month
    when they were all on sale.
    We dragged the bags in from the car
    and set them on the scale.

    The candy weighed a hundred pounds!
    I’m sure we got enough.
    In fact, we may have had too much
    of all that yummy stuff.

    It wouldn’t hurt to just eat one,
    or two, or three, or four.
    We bought so much that we could
    even eat a dozen more.

    So every day we had a few;
    a minuscule amount.
    How many? I can’t say for sure.
    I wasn’t keeping count.

    Our pile grew smaller every day
    by ten, fifteen, or twenty.
    But, still, it didn’t matter.
    We were certain we had plenty.

    When Halloween arrived we checked
    the candy situation,
    and found that we had given in
    to way too much temptation.

    A single bar was all we had.
    We’d eaten all the rest.
    So, if our lights are off tonight,
    I think that’s for the best.

    “We Bought a Lot of Candy Bars” copyright © 2020 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted by permission of the author. www.poetry4kids.com

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  18. 16. The Feast Of Freedom

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    Passover (or Pesach as it's called in Hebrew) is the Festival of Freedom, a Jewish Holiday commemorating the liberation of the ancient Israelites from Slavery in Egypt.
    Passover is celebrated in the springtime. The poet uses the different seasons as metaphors to time periods in the history of the Jewish people. Winter is slavery and exile when Israel and the Jewish people are ruled by others. Spring, the revival of freedom. Summer, the time when Israel ruled itself with the temple in Jerusalem.

    I REMEMBER in my childhood
      From my grandfather I heard
    Charming tales of gone-by ages
      That my soul so deeply stirred.

    Charming tales of ancient sages
      That I felt I knew were true;
    Stories of the hoary ages
      That remain forever new.

    Of the Pesach-days he told me,
      Days that joy and sunshine bring;
    Of the Festival of Freedom,
      Of Revival and of Spring.

    Of the slave-people in Egypt,
      Whose hot blood so rashly spilled,
    Soaked into cold bricks and mortar
      Of the fortresses they built.

    How on them, the God-forsaken,
      After gloomy wintry days,
    Shone at last the rays of freedom,
      Heaven's bright and cheerful rays.

    How among them rose a leader,
      Star-like in a gloomy night,
    And he pleaded for their freedom,
      And he crushed a tyrant's might.

    How he taught the fettered people
      Not in vain their blood to spill,
    Turning bondmen into freemen,
      Men of honor and of will.

    How the people's march to Freedom
      Could no despot's might restrain,
    Till before their will resistless
      Stormy ocean oped in twain.

    "Then it was our people's springtime,
      After which a summer came,
    Followed by a golden harvest,
      Free from yoke and free from shame."

    "Grand-sire, dear," I asked enraptured,
      "How long did that summer last?"
    But he sadly gazed and pondered,
      And he answered me at last.

    "Child, it was a long, bright summer,
      But a winter came again,
    Came with cold and snow and showers,
      With its gales of grief and pain.

    "Frost and tempest-strife, contention--
      Raged once more in every part,
    Stealing into souls and freezing
      Will and hope in every heart.

    "Furious storm once more dispersed us;
      Israel rendered free and great,
    Into lands of cruel despots
      Went to face a bondman's fate."

    "Grand-sire, dear, why does this winter
      Seem so endless, then?"--I sighed--
    And two crystal tears were trembling
      In his eyes when he replied.

    "Yes, my boy, it seems so endless,
      But it cannot, will not be;
    Israel will not slave forever,
      One day, child, he will be free.

    "In his soul will re-awaken
      Courage, will, and pride, and might;
    Freedom's sunrise must needs follow
      Israel's starless exile night.

    "But till then, ere spring's arrival--
      For the winter's steps are slow--
    Pesach is a sweet remembrance
      Of a spring of long ago."

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  19. 17. Star Of The East

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    In this poem, famous poet Eugene Field (1850-1895) shares the hope of Christmastime. It starts with a short retelling of the Christmas story. Then it moves to an invitation for the reader to be like the wise men and lay their hearts and gifts before the Child of Bethlehem.

    Star of the East, that long ago
    Brought wise men on their way
    Where, angels singing to and fro,
    The Child of Bethlehem lay—
    Above that Syrian hill afar
    Thou shinest out to-night, O Star!

    Star of the East, the night were drear
    But for the tender grace
    That with thy glory comes to cheer
    Earth's loneliest, darkest place;
    For by that charity we see
    Where there is hope for all and me.

    Star of the East! show us the way
    In wisdom undefiled
    To seek that manger out and lay
    Our gifts before the child—
    To bring our hearts and offer them
    Unto our King in Bethlehem!

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  20. 18. The Eternal Riddle

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    The poem by Philip Max Raskin was published as part of the book, "Songs of a Jew" in 1914 in London. It celebrates the resiliency of the Jewish People who throughout their history have been persecuted and yet they have persevered. The eternal riddle is how have they survived so long, while their foes, much stronger than them, are relegated to the page of the history books.

    Israel, my people,
    God's greatest riddle,
    Will thy solution
    Ever be told

    Fought - never conquered,
    Bent - never broken,
    Mortal - immortal,
    Youthful, though old.

    Egypt enslaved thee,
    Babylon crushed thee,
    Rome led thee captive,
    Homeless thy head.

    Where are those nations
    Mighty and fearsome
    Thou hast survived them,
    They are long dead.

    Nations keep coming,
    Nations keep going,
    Passing like shadows,
    Wiped off the earth.

    Thou an eternal
    Witness remainest,
    Watching their burial,
    Watching their birth.

    Pray, who revealed thee
    Heaven's great secret:
    Death and destruction,
    Thus to defy

    Suffering torture,
    Stake, inquisition -
    Prithee, who taught thee
    Never to die

    Ay, and who gave thee
    Faith, deep as ocean,
    Strong as the rock-hills,
    Fierce as the sun

    Hated and hunted,
    Ever thou wand'rest,
    Bearing a message:
    God is but one!

    Pray, has thy saga
    Likewise an ending,
    As its beginning
    Glorious of old

    Israel, my people,
    God's greatest riddle,
    Will thy solution
    Ever be told

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  21. 19. Chanukah Lights

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    From The Standard Book of Jewish Verse published in 1917. The Jewish holiday of Hanukkah (or Chanukah), is also known as the festival of lights because of the candles which are lit in a Menorah, an 8 branch candelabra. Hanukkah lasts 8 days and on each day another candle is added to the total.
    As told in the poem, the holiday commemorates the 2nd century BCE rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem (part of Judea, another name for Israel) after the successful Maccabean Revolt. The Maccabees were the leaders of a Jewish rebel army, led by Judas, who took back control of Judea from the Syrian Greeks.

    I KINDLED my eight little candles,
      My Chanukah-candles--and lo!
    Fair visions and dreams half-forgotten
      To me came of years long ago.

    I musingly gazed at my candles;
      Meseemed in their quivering flames
    In golden, in fiery letters
      I read the old glorious names,

    The names of our heroes immortal,
      The noble, the brave, and the true,
    A battle-field saw I in vision
      Where many were conquered by few.

    Where trampled in dust lay the mighty,
      Judea's proud Syrian foe;
    And Judas, the brave Maccabaeus,
      In front of his army I saw.

    His eyes shone like bright stars of heaven,
      Like music rang out his strong voice:
    "Brave comrades, we fought and we conquered,
      Now let us, in God's name, rejoice!"

    "We conquered--but know, O brave comrades,
      No triumph is due to the sword!
    Remember our glorious watchword,
      'For People and Towns of the Lord!'"

    He spoke, and from all the four corners
      An echo repeated each word;
    The woods and the mountains re-echoed:
      "For People and Towns of the Lord!"

    And swiftly the message spread, saying:
      "Judea, Judea is free,
    Re-kindled the lamp in the Temple,
      Re-kindled each bosom with glee!"

    My Chanukah-candles soon flickered,
      Around me was darkness of night;
    But deep in my soul I felt shining
      A heavenly-glorious light.

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  22. 20. A Vampire Bit My Neck Last Night

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    Halloween can be filled with many scary things for children. It’s easy to let our imaginations run away with us.

    A vampire bit my neck last night.
    And, though it sounds insane,
    some zombies chased me down the street
    and tried to eat my brain.

    A mummy shambled after me.
    Godzilla stomped my face.
    I nearly I got abducted by
    an alien from space.

    When Frankenstein attacked me
    I escaped, but then almost
    got tackled by a skeleton,
    a werewolf, and a ghost.

    A slimy blob engulfed me.
    Then I woke up with a scream.
    I’ve never been so overjoyed
    to wake up from a dream.

    Last night I learned a lesson;
    if you want to keep your head,
    don’t watch a scary movie
    right before you go to bed.

    “A Vampire Bit My Neck Last night” copyright © 2021 Kenn Nesbitt. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted by permission of the author. www.poetry4kids.com

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