Poetry

CHRISTMAS BY THE GREAT RIVER.

Joaquin Miller


  • Oh, lion of the ample earth,
  • What sword can cleave thy sinews through?
  • The south forever cradles you;
  • And yet the great North gives you birth.

  • Go find an arm so strong, so sure,
  • Go forge a sword so keen, so true,
  • That it can thrust thy bosom through;
  • Then may this union not endure!

  • In orange lands I lean to-day
  • Against thy warm tremendous mouth,
  • Oh, tawny lion of the South,
  • To hear what story you shall say.

  • What story of the stormy North
  • Of frost-bound homes, of babes at play—
  • What tales of twenty States the day
  • You left your lair and leapt forth:

  • The day you tore the mountain's breast
  • And in the icy North uprose,
  • You shook your sides of rains and snows,
  • And rushed against the South to rest:

  • Oh, tawny river, what of they,
  • The far North folk? The maiden sweet—
  • The ardent lover at her feet
  • What story of thy States to-day!

  • The river kissed my garment's hem,
  • And whispered as it swept away:
  • "God's story in all States to-day
  • Is of a babe of Bethlehem."