The brazen bells of laughing lands

In swelling echoes wildly ring,

And over seas and hoary strands

This Christmas carol sing.

"Awaken, O, heart of the race,

To bountiful riches from Eden above,

Till roses of beauty and lilies of grace

Shall sweeten the languishing bosom with love;

Till virulent sorrow and venomous hate

Their poisonous curses of misery cease,

And rapturous fortune, felicitous fate,

Have rule in the musical meadows of peace.

"The voices of morning to men,

In passionate whispers of bounteous glee,

Are pulsing the gladness of Christmas again

O'er plains of the prairie and sounds of the sea;

Rejoice and be happy, O, languishing soul,

In limitless treasures of marvelous cheer,

Till ravishing murmurs of lullabies roll

Through all of the sorrows that sadden the year!

"Though summer has gone from the earth,

And silken embraces of velvety snow

Are folding the blossoms of beauty and worth

In wretched surroundings of wearisome woe;

Let innocent joys in their sweetness abound

And silvery cadence in melody start,

Till rapturous fortunes with pleasure surround

The aims of the soul and the hopes of the heart.

"Let youth with its yearning engage

All vigorous passion that lives in the breast,

While tearful remembrance of tottering age

Finds halcyon harbors of comforting rest;

Let silver of years with the ardor of youth

Be going again through the temple of joy,

While palms of amusement and laurels of truth

Encircle the hearts of the maiden and boy.

"Let happiness reign with the race;

There's never a reason for sorrowful tears,

Kriss Kringle has come with his fatherly face

To comfort complaining humanity's fears;

Let music go 'round and the beautiful smile

Bring gladsome delight to the bosom of bliss,

Till gentle enjoyments unbroken beguile

The souls of the sad with their coveted kiss.

"Though crystalline frost on the trees,

Though ice on the river and snow on the plain

Are freezing the breath of the shivering breeze.

The heart has Nepenthe for all of its pain;

For Christmas is king, and his bountiful hand

Is giving its treasures to mountain and lea,

And gentleness rules on the billowy strand,

And reigns in the far-away isles of the sea."

This is the carol that swells

Over the meadows and brakes,

From brazen throats of the pealing bells

When Christmas morning wakes.

Wild years that are to be

The sad completion of my weary life,

In ghostly mantles of despairing strife

Your phanton dimness darkly shadows me!

Gaunt demons dancing from your horrid halls

Entwine my soul in gloomy arms of woe,

While mystic fancies to my madness show

The monsters on your walls.

Your forms are skeletons,

Whose bony hands with mortal fingers play,

Where grinning skulls are heaping on the way,

And airy specters meet the timid ones;

Death drops his arrows from your sullen skies,

Destruction dances in your noisome shades,

And in the dreadful darkness of your glades

The horrid shriekings rise.

There in your cycles are

Dark valleys where my weary feet must go,

Though devils of disaster hurl and throw

Their awful sorrows from the fortunes far;

No hands of pleasure can presume to part

The clouded curtains of impending care,

And hissing serpents of insane despair

Pour poison in my heart.

O, years that are to be,

Among your solitudes I, dreaming, grope;

My life's the shade of unaccomplished hope,

My heart's a ghoul that feeds on agony!

No strains of music call my tears away,

No smiling star illumes the awful night;

Ambition weeps; my soul draws without light

My shameless feet astray!

No soothing welcome floats

Between your marble lips, nor sweetly rise

The tender songs of gentle melodies

From croaking caverns of your iron throats;

But from your dirges of destructive pain,

Wild clash of wretched sound is borne to me,

Where death and failure, tears and misery,

In robes or anguish reign.

But my heart hopes to find

Some infant joy for woes that sorrow did,

Some faded garland on some coffin lid,

To cheer the wildness of my broken mind;

Some angel pleasures in your realms must roll,

Some laughing life, some music, in your glooms,

Shall gladness give, amid your ghostly tombs,

Mad Future, to my soul!

If we don't or if we do.

What's the odds to me and you?

Fame is e'er a heartless jade,

And her slaves are poorly paid;

Weary hearts and soul's distress

Are the prices of success;

All our stations sadness view,—

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

Our deservings will accrue;

We must pay the fullest price,

For each virtue and each vice,

And each life for every thing

Must an equal portion bring;

Justice shall our deeds review,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

Fortune to our worth is true;

Trophies that enshroud our clay,

Scarce are worth the price we pay;

Shame doth small endeavors share,

Fame and glory, toil and care;

Earth floats but an equal crew,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

What's the diff'rence 'tween the two,

When our souls have gone to God

And we sleep beneath the sod?

Kindred grasses wave and creep

Where the prince and pauper sleep;

We shall have our six-feet-two,

If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do,

We but dust and ashes brew;