Clement Moore's 'Visit from St. Nicholas'
Each year on Christmas Eve, the Grand Forks Herald publishes "A Visit from St. Nicholas," a poem written by Clement Moore and first published, anonymously, in 1823.
’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 through their heads.
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled in 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 the luster of midday to objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it 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 Blitzen! "To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! "Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, so, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with a 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 peddler 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, 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 goodnight!"
Clement Moore, a New York professor, wrote this classic Christmas poem for his children in 1822. Its appearance in the Herald is a tradition of many years.