The Yule Log

In dim gray light of Christmas morn,

The Yule Log to the Hall was borne.

Hail, Christmas Log!

Now was its time of honor nigh,

And jolly men with boist'rous cry,

Guffaws of laughter, lusty mirth,

Had bound with ropes its monstrous girth

All greenly decked; and placed thereon

The Squire's laughing Little Son.

Hail, Christmas Log!

With eyes a-sparkle, cheeks aflame,

He rode in state until they came

Unto the Hall's great hearth at last;

Then "Ho, heave ho!" the Log was cast

With mighty effort far inside

The yawning chimney's cavern wide.

Hail, Christmas Log!

Holding a bit of half-charred wood,

From last year's Yule Log, waiting stood

The Squire, who loved the olden rite

And would himself the Yule Log light.

And Christmas unto Christmas sent

Its warmth and cheer and merriment

When, this torch set ablaze, the Squire

Kindled another Christmas fire.

Hail, Christmas Log!

Right merrily the fire burned

And when came nightfall, hither turned

The company of Joyous Guests

Agog for evening sports and jests.

But scarcely were they seated round

On bench, stool, settle, than the sound

Of piping childish voice outbroke.

(It was the Little Son who spoke.)

"A tale! Now for a tale!" cried he.

All smiled assent. "But who shall be

The teller of the tale?" asked one.

Then said the Squire's Little Son,

Clapping his hands, "Nay, I will show.

Good rhymes for 'counting out' I know."

With jingling rhyme, around the room

He sped; and lo! the playful doom

Fell on the Justice, man of law,

Whom all the County held in awe.

The Little Son drew back dismayed,

But with a smile the Justice said,

"Thy 'counting out' was fair, I trow

And I will tell a tale right now."