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Show A CHRISTMAS PAGEANT Twas Christmas eve upon the prairie, And we sat around the fire. We could hear the coyote, wary; Seemed as if hed never tire. The wintry wind was wildly raging, And the night was bitter cold. Winters elements were waging War upon the young and old. Lean and hungry, roamed the cattle, And the horses, too, were thin. We could hear the windows rattle And the fine snow sifted in. Some were thinking, some were talking, Christmas times, theyd known before; The Christmas story, some were mocking; They had no faith in Bible core. Just the foreman sat, unheeding, With his head, all frosted oer, Bent above his paper, reading, He seemed their chatter to ignore. Gaunt was he and hard as flintrock, Fearless, tireless, without hate. We had seen him nurse the thin stock And we knew his heart was great. Suddenly, there came a rapping; Surprise was written on each face. Again it sounded, tapping, tapping. The foreman rose up from his place. As he threw the door wide open, Standin in the bitin storm, Stood a man, there, blindly gropin, And we saw a womans form. No place, had we, for any women And the foremans face grew red, But that womans eyes were brimmin, We couldnt hear what her man said. But we saw a changed expression Sweep across our foremans face. After that we had a session Which upset the whole blamed place. Kim, the cook, was heatin water, Red was on the doctors trail. All the fires must be much hotter To withstand the winters gale. So the night passed; came the morning, When we heard that babys cry; Tho we'd had the doctors warning, There was moisture in each eye. As we sat around the table After breakfast time was done, One, whod called the story, fable, Asked the boss, in jest and fun, Say boss, what made you change so quickly, When those people came that way? Though, at first, you look right sickly, You got busy, right away. Our old boss, his fine eyes snappin, Seemed to ponder, then replied, Say, pardner, did you ever happen To hear of Christ, the Crucified? Last winter, when I made the visit, To the folks back east, you know, They were fixin so exquisite That I thought wed see a show. Well, it was a sort of actin, But, a pageants what twas called, And those folks were simply packed in, Till those usher men were stalled. Well, it was The Christmas Story, Call it fable, call it fact, Christ, the Child, in all His glory Was the center of each act. You all know the claims of histry, Shepherds, wise men, angels, star, Strangely merged of fact and mystry, Always guiding men afar. But the part that made me wonder, As I watched that pageant play, Was the landlords foolish blunder When he turned that pair away. When, last night, he told their trouble, How theyd tried the village inn, It seemed The Christmas Storys double, And I saw that play again. Now, you boys will long remember What that pageant tried to say, For a night in bleak December Brought a glorious Christmas day. Slim had fetched the neighbor lady, Now, she brought the youngster in. Every one must see that baby; Every one was proud as sin. Once again they saw the stable Where the holy couple went. Slim remarked, It was no fable. Every cowboy bowed assent. H. E. PRALL, The Prairie Poet, Care of C.W. Cross Co. Their Work Will Aid Wounded of Many Areas WORKERSDoing their bit to aid the war effort are volunteers in the Red Cross surgical dressings unit, shown in the above photo. The women work from ten a.m. to three p.m., Monday through Friday, making bandages which will be sent to take care of wounded servce men. Standing in the foreground is Mrs. Lawrence Boyle, a supervisor. Dec. 1942 |
