Christmas Stories 2

Christmas Stories Compiled by Michael James Johnston
‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

By Clement Moore
‘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 in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the 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 lustre of mid-day 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, Donner 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 the 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,
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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 of 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 bowlful 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,
And 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 good-night.”
CHRISTMAS VISIONS
By Don H Staheli
It was Christmas Eve and Grandma and three of her grandchildren were sitting in front of the fire as
the last few embers gave off their soft heat. Outside it was cold and the snow was falling gently, so
everyone cuddled up a little closer to be sure to stay warm. The children were so excited for Christmas
morning that they could hardly hold still, but Grandma’s quiet voice quickly got their attention.
“Now children,” she said, “it’s almost time for bed, but we still have a few minutes for a special
story.” The children squealed with delight, but then settled down and listened carefully, for they loved
Grandma’s stories.
Grandma began, “This is the story of the Little Match Girl. It is a story that will help us catch the
vision of the true spirit of Christmas.”
Busy holiday shoppers passed by without even noticing her. She was just a little girl dressed in ragged
clothes. The evening air was freezing, but she had no gloves and no hat. Earlier in the day, as she was
hurrying to cross the street, one shoe had fallen off and some thoughtless boys had teased her and run
off with it. Now she wore only one tattered shoe, and the other foot was hardly covered in a small, thin
stocking.
Her frail body shivered in the cold wind like the last leaf of autumn. “Won’t someone buy some
matches,” she said with a weak voice, buy no one seemed to hear. She had spent much of the day
trying to sell small boxes of matches to those who hurried by on the sidewalk, but had not sold one. “I
can’t go home yet,” she thought, “father will be so disappointed that I haven’t even a penny.” The tiny
amount of money she made selling matches helped to put food on the table. Her mother and
grandmother had died years ago, and father was so busy trying to keep the family fed.
Just then a gust of wintry wind sent the little girl into the narrow alley between two buildings to try to
get out of the cold. As she huddled and shivered in the shadows she thought to herself, “Maybe I could
just light a match and it would warm my hands a bit.”
She took a match and struck it across the side of the box. Immediately, the flame shot up, and there
before her eyes, as if the wall of the building had disappeared, was a beautiful dining table set with
china plates, crystal goblets, and silver forks, and full of wonderful food---a large roasted turkey
steaming bowls of vegetables, pies and cakes, and sparkling cider. “Oh my,” said the little girl to herself,
“everything I could ever want to eat!” But just as she reached to get a bite, the match went out and
with it the vision of delicious food went away.
“I must light another match,” she said, and she quickly chose one and struck it against the box. Again,
the flame went up brightly and this time, there in the darkened alleyway, she thought she saw a tall and
brilliant Christmas tree all decked with lights and shining tinsel. Her eyes were wide with delight as she
gazed at the glorious star that shone on the top of the tree. “It is so beautiful,” she said, her voice now
weaker than ever, “If only father could see it!” But as she reached out to touch an evergreen bough, the
match went out and with it went her vision of the wonderfully decorated tree.
Again in the frigid darkness of the alley, aching with cold and disappointment, the little girl decided to
light all of the matches at once. “I must get warm,” she thought. “I must. Father will understand.”
As the bundled matches all lighted at once the alley was bathed in a dazzling flash of light. There
standing over the little girl was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Dressed in white, she
seemed to be glowing in the match light. Her skin was so soft and clear, and her eyes were gentle and
kind. She smiled in a most loving way and tenderly spoke to the little match girl.
“Hello, my dear,” she said, “I’ve come to take you home.” And she reached out to take her by the
hand.
“Oh, Grandmother, I love you,” replied the little girl, and she didn’t feel cold anymore.
“Oh, Grandma, that’s such a sad story,” cried one of the grandchildren.
“It does seem sad at first,” replied Grandma, “but when you think about it, it really is a happy story.
From the little match girl we learn that material things, as nice as they are, do not bring true warmth
and happiness. A vision of true love is the most important thing in life, especially at Christmastime.”
THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

Author Unknown
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

A Partridge in a Pear Tree
The partridge in a pear tree was a symbol for Jesus Christ (see Luke 13:34)
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Two Turtle Doves
Two turtle doves represented the Old and New Testaments
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Three French Hens
Three French hens stood for the three Christian virtues: faith, hope, and charity.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Four Calling Birds
Four calling birds were symbols of the four Gospels
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Five Golden Rings
Five gold rings represented the first five books of the Old Testament.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Six Geese A-laying
Six geese referred to the six days of creation.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Seven Swans A-swimming
Seven swans reminded them of the seven gifts of the Spirit that Paul outlined in Romans 12:6-8.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Eight Maids A-milking
Eight maids stood for the eight Beatitudes (see Matthew 5:3-10)
On the Ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Nine Ladies Dancing
Nine ladies recalled the nine fruits of the Spirit that Paul taught the Galatians (Galatians5:22-23)
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Ten Lords A-leaping
Ten lords were symbolic of the Ten Commandments (see Exodus 20:1-17)
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Eleven Pipers Piping
Eleven pipers represented the eleven faithful Apostles (see Luke 6:14-16)
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

Twelve Drummers Drumming
Twelve drummers stood for the Twelve Apostles
TILLY’S CHRISTMAS
By Louisa May Alcott
“Now I’ve a Christmas present after all,” Tilly said smiling. “I’ve always wanted a bird, and this one
will be such a pretty pet for me.”
“He’ll fly away the first chance he gets and die anyhow,” said Bessy. “You’d be better off not to waste
your time with him.”
“He can’t pay you for taking care of him, and my mother says it isn’t worthwhile to help folks that
can’t help us,” added Kate.
“My mother said, ‘Do to others as you would be done to by them,’ and I’m sure I’d like someone to
help me if I was dying of cold and hunger. I also remember the little saying, ‘Love your neighbor as
yourself.’ This bird is my little neighbor, and I’ll love him and care for him, just as I often wish our rich
neighbor would love and care for us,” answered Tilly. She leaned forward slightly, breathing her warm
breath over the tiny bird, who looked up at her with confiding eyes, quick to feel and know a friend.
Little did Tilly know, her rich neighbor Mr. King overhears the conversation and observes Tilly’s
Kindness. She carries the bird to her humble home and shares what little food she has with the robin.
Her mother is cheered by the bird and encourages Tilly to take good care of him. Tilly begins to discover
the joy of selfless love.
Such a poor little supper, and yet such a happy one, for love, charity, and contentment were welcome
guests around the humble table. That Christmas Eve was a sweeter one even than that at the great
house, where light shone, fires blazed, a great tree glittered, music sounded, and children danced and
played.
“We must go to bed early,” said Tilly’s mother as they sat by the fire. “We must save the wood, for
there is only enough to last through tomorrow. The day after, I shall be paid for my work, and we can
buy more.”
“If only my bird were a fairy bird and would give us three wishes,” Tilly said quietly. “How nice that
would be! But, the poor dear can give me nothing, and it is of no matter.” Tilly was looking at the robin,
who lay in the basket with his head under his wing, nothing more than a feathery little ball.
“He can give you one thing, Tilly,” her mother said. “He can give you the pleasure of doing good.
That is one of the sweetest things in life, and it can be enjoyed by the poor as well as the rich.” As Tilly’s
mother spoke, she softly stroked her daughter’s hair with her tired hand.
Suddenly, Tilly started with surprise and pointed toward the window. “I saw a face—a man’s face,”
she confided in a frightened whisper. “He was looking in. He’s gone now, but I truly saw him.”
Tilly’s mother stood up and went to the door. “Some traveler attracted by the light perhaps,” she
said.
The wind blew cold, the stars shone bright, the snow lay white on the field and the wood, and the
Christmas moon was glittering in the sky, but no human person was standing within sight.
“What sort of face was it?” asked Tilly’s mother, quickly closing the door.
“A pleasant sort of face. I think, but I was so startled to see it there that I don’t quite know what it
was like. I wish we had a curtain there,” said Tilly.
“I like to have our light shine out in the evening, for the road is dark and lonely just here and the
twinkle of our lamp is pleasant to people as they pass by. We can do so little for our neighbors. I am
glad we can at least cheer them on their way,” said Tilly’s mother. “Now put those poor old shoes to dry
and go to bed, dearie. I’ll be coming soon.”
Tilly went, taking her birdie with her to sleep in his basket near her bed, lest he should be lonely in
the night. Soon the house was dark and still.
When Tilly came down and opened the front door that Christmas morning, she gave a loud cry,
clapped her hands, together, and then stood still, quite speechless with wonder and delight. There, near
the stoop, lay a great pile of firewood all ready to be burned. There was also a large bundle and a
basket with lovely nosegay of wintry roses, holly, and evergreen tied to the handle.
“Oh, Mother! Who could have left it?” cried Tilly, pale with excitement and surprise of it all. She
stepped out to bring in the basket, and her mother, a few steps behind, stooped down to scoop up the
bundle.
“The best and dearest of all Christmas angels is called ‘Charity,’” Tilly’s mother answered, her eyes
welling with tears as she undid the bundle. “She walks abroad at Christmastime doing beautiful deeds
like this, and never staying to be thanked.”
It was all there—all that Tilly had imagined. There were warm, thick blankets, the comfortable shawl,
a pair of new shoes, and best of all, a pretty winter hat for Bessy. The basket was full of good things to
eat, and on the flowers lay a small note saying, “For the little girl who loves her neighbor as herself.”
“Mother, I really do think my little bird is an angel in disguise and that all these splendid things came
from him,” said Tilly, laughing and crying with joy.
It really did seem so. As Tilly spoke, the robin flew to the table, hopped to the nosegay, and perching
among the roses, began to chirp with all his little might. The sun streamed in on the flowers, the tiny
bird, and the happy child with her mother. No one saw a shadow glide across the window or ever knew
that Mr. King had seen and heard the little girls the night before. No one ever dreamed that the rich
neighbor had learned a priceless lesson from his poor little neighbor girl.
And Tilly’s bird was a Christmas angel, for by the love and tenderness she gave to the helpless little
creature, she brought good gifts to herself, faithful friendship of a little friend who did not fly away, but
stayed with her until the snow was gone, making summer for her in the wintertime.
THE LITTLE BLUE DISHES

Author Unknown
Once upon a time there was a poor woodcutter who lived with his wife and three children in a forest
in Germany. There was a big boy called Hans and a little boy named Peter and a little sister named
Gretchen, just five years old. When Christmas was getting near, the children went to the toy shop to
look at all of the toys.
“Gretchen,” said Peter, “What do you like best?”
“Oh! That little box of blue dishes,” said Gretchen. “That is the very best of all.”
On Christmas Eve the children hung up their stockings, although their mother had said that they were
so poor they could not have much this Christmas. Hans ran out after supper to play with the big boys.
Gretchen and Peter sat talking before the fire about the Christmas toys ---and especially about the box
of blue dishes.
By and by Gretchen ran off to bed and was soon asleep. Peter ran to look in his bank. There was only
one penny, but he took it and ran quickly to the toy shop.
“What have you for a penny?” he said to the toy man.
“Only a small candy heart,” said the man. So Peter bought the candy heart and put it in Gretchen’s
stocking, and then he ran off to bed.
Pretty soon Hans came home. He was cold and hungry. When he saw Gretchen’s stocking, he
peeked in, then put his hand in and drew out the candy heart. “Oh, dear,” he said, “that was for
Gretchen for Christmas. I’ll run and buy something else for her.” So he ran to his bank and saw that he
had ten pennies. Quickly he ran to the toy store.
“What have you got for ten pennies?” he asked the storekeeper.
“Well, I’m almost sold out,” said the toy man, but here in this little box is a set of blue dishes.”
“I will take them,” said Hans, and home he ran and dropped the dishes into Gretchen’s stocking.
Then he went to bed.
Early in the morning the children came running downstairs. “Oh!” said Gretchen. “Look at my
stocking!” And when she saw the blue dishes, she was as happy as could be.
But Peter could never understand how his candy heart had changed into a box of blue dishes!
GIFT OF THE MAGI

By O. Henry
Now , there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs In which they both took a mighty
pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s
hair…
Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached
below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it again nervously and
quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red
carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the
brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: “Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.” One flight up Della ran,
and collected herself, panting. . .
“Will you buy my hair?” asked Della.
“I buy hair,” said Madame. “Take yer hat off and let’s have s sight at the looks of it.”
Down rippled the brown cascade.
“Twenty dollars,” said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
“Give it to me quick,” said Della.
And so Della sacrificed her most prized possession ----- her hair ---- in order to earn enough money to
buy Jim a present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in
any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum (watch) chain simple and
chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious
ornamentation-----as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it
she knew that it must be Jim’s. . . When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to
prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the
ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends-----a
mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully
like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
“If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a
Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do---oh! What could I do with a dollar and eight-seven
cents?”
. . .Jim was never late. Della doubled the (watch) chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table
near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight,
and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the
simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: “Please God, make him think I am still pretty.”
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he
was only twenty-two---and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was
without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon
Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not
anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared
for. He stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and
went for him.
“Jim, darling,” she cried, “don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn’t
have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again---you won’t mind, will
you?. . . Say ‘Merry Christmas!’ Jim, and let’s be happy . . .”
“You’ve cut off your hair?” asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even
after the hardest mental labor.
“Cut it off and sold it,” said Della. “Don’t you like me as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t
I?”
Jim looked about the room curiously.
“You say your hair is gone?” he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
“You needn’t look for it,” said Della. “It’s sold, I tell you sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy.
Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with
sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on Jim?”
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della . . . Jim drew a package from his
overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
“Don’t make any mistake, Dell,” He said, “about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a
haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that
package you may see why you had me going a while at first.”
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy, and then,
alas! A quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of
all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs---the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a
Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims---just the shade to wear in
the beautiful vanished hair . . . But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up
with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My hair grows so fast, Jim.”
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and dried, “Oh, oh!”
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm . . .
“Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a
day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and
smiled.
“Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ‘em a while. They’re too nice to use
just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the
chops on.”
The magi, as you know, were wise men---wonderfully wise men---who brought gifts to the Babe in
the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents . . . But in a last word to the wise of
these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive
gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
RUDOLPH THAT AMAZING REINDEER

By Robert May
On a December night in Chicago several years ago, a little girl climbed onto her father’s lap and asked a
question. It was a simple question, asked in children’s curiosity, yet it had a heart-rending effect on
Robert May.
“Daddy,” four year old Barbara asked,” Why isn’t my mommy just like everybody else’s mommy?”
Bob stole a glance across his shabby across his shabby two room apartment. On a couch lay his young
wife, Evelyn, racked with cancer. For two years she had been bedridden; for two years, all Bob’s income
and smaller savings had gone to pay for treatments and medicines.
The terrible ordeal already had shattered two adult lives. Now Bob suddenly realized the happiness of
his growing daughter was also in jeopardy. As he ran his fingers through Barbara’s hair, he prayed for
some satisfactory answer to her question.
Bob may know only too well what it meant to be “Different.” As a child he had been weak and delicate
with the innocent cruelty of children, his playmates had continually goaded the stunted, skinny lad to
tears. Later at Dartmouth, from which he was graduated in 1926, Bob May was so small that he was
always being mistaken for someone’s little brother.
Nor was his adult life much happier, unlike many of his classmates who floated from college into plush
jobs, Bob became a lowly copy writer for Montgomery Ward, the big Chicago mail order house. Now at
33 Bob was deep in debt, depressed and sad.
Although Bob did not know it at the time, the answer he gave the tousled haired child on his lap was to
bring him to fame and fortune. It was also to bring joy to the countless thousands of children like his
own Barbara on that December night in the shabby Chicago apartment. Bob cradled his little girl’s head
against his shoulder and began to tell a story.
“Once upon a time there was a reindeer named Rudolph, the only reindeer in the world that had a big
red nose. Naturally people called him Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.” As Bob went on to tell about
Rudolph, he tried desperately to communicate to Barbara the knowledge that, even though some
creatures of God are strange and different, they often enjoy the miraculous power to make others
happy.
Rudolph, Bob explained, was terribly embarrassed by his unique nose, other reindeer laughed at him, his
mother and father and sister were mortified too. Even Rudolph wallowed in self pity.
“Well,” continued Bob, “one Christmas Eve, Santa Claus got his team of husky reindeer – Dasher,
Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen ready for their yearly trip around the world. The entire reindeer community
assembled to cheer these great heroes on their way. But a terrible fog engulfed the earth that evening
and Santa knew that the mist was so thick he wouldn’t be able to find any chimneys.
Suddenly Rudolph appeared, his red nose glowing brighter than ever. Santa sensed at once that here
was the answer to his perplexing problem. He led Rudolph to the front of the sleigh, fastened the
harness and climbed in. They were off! Rudolph guided Santa safely to every chimney that night. Rain
and fog, snow and sleet, nothing bothered Rudolph, for his bright nose penetrated the mist like a
beacon.
And so it was that Rudolph became the most famous and beloved of all the reindeer. The huge red nose
he once hid in shame was now the envy of every buck and doe in the reindeer world. Santa Clause told
everyone that Rudolph had saved the day and from that Christmas, Rudolph has been living serenely
and happy.”
Little Barbara laughed with glee when her father finished. Every night she begged him to repeat the tale
until finally Bob could rattle it off in his sleep. Then, at Christmas time he decided to make the story into
a poem like “The Night Before Christmas” and prepare it in bookish form illustrated with pictures, for
Barbara’s personal gift. Night after night, Bob worked on the verses after Barbara had gone to bed for
he was determined his daughter should have a worthwhile gift, even though he could not afford to buy
one.
Then as Bob was about to put the finishing touches on Rudolph, tragedy struck. Evelyn may die. Bob,
his hopes crushed, turned to Barbara as chief comfort. Yet, despite his grief, he sat at his desk in the
quiet, now lonely apartment, and worked on “Rudolph” with tears in his eyes.
Shortly after Barbara had cried with joy over his handmade gift on Christmas morning, Bob was asked to
an employee’s holiday party at Montgomery Wards. He didn’t want to go, but his office associates
insisted. When Bob finally agreed, he took with him the poem and read it to the crowd. First the noisy
throng listened in laughter and gaiety. Then they became silent, and at the end, broke into spontaneous
applause, that was in 1938.
By Christmas of 1947, some 6,000,000 copies of the booklet had been given away or sold, making
Rudolph one of the most widely distributed books in the world. The demand for Rudolph sponsored
products, increased so much in variety and number that educators and historians predicted Rudolph
would come to occupy a permanent place in the Christmas legend.
Through the years of unhappiness, the tragedy of his wife’s death and his ultimate success with
Rudolph, Bob May has captured a sense of serenity. And as each Christmas rolls around he recalls with
thankfulness the night when his daughter, Barbara’s questions inspired him to write the story.

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Christmas Stories Compiled by Michael James Johnston

‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

His eyes---how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the Ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me . . .

THE LITTLE BLUE DISHES

GIFT OF THE MAGI

RUDOLPH THAT AMAZING REINDEER

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