A few days before Christmas, we were delighted at receiving a beautiful
Christmas Hymn from Whittier, written by request, especially for our
children. They learned it very easily, and enjoyed singing it. We showed
them the writer's picture, and told them he was a very good friend of
theirs, who felt the deepest interest in them, and had written this hymn
expressly for them to sing,--which made them very proud and happy. Early
Christmas morning, we were wakened by the people knocking at the doors
and windows, and shouting, "Merry Christmas!" After distributing some
little presents among them, we went to the church, which had been
decorated with holly, pine, cassena, mistletoe, and the hanging moss,
and had a very Christmas-like look. The children of our school assembled
there, and we gave them the nice, comfortable clothing, and the
picture-books, which had been kindly sent by some Philadelphia ladies.
There were at least a hundred and fifty children present. It was very
pleasant to see their happy, expectant little faces. To them, it was a
wonderful Christmas-Day,--such as they had never dreamed of before.
There was cheerful sunshine without, lighting up the beautiful
moss-drapery of the oaks, and looking in joyously through the open
windows; and there were bright faces and glad hearts within. The long,
dark night of the Past, with all its sorrows and its fears, was
forgotten; and for the Future,--the eyes of these freed children see no
clouds in it. It is full of sunlight, they think, and they trust in it,
perfectly.
After the distribution of the gifts, the children were addressed by some
of the gentlemen present. They then sang Whittier's Hymn, the "John
Brown" song, and several of their own hymns, among them a very singular
one, commencing,--
"I wonder where my mudder gone;
Sing, O graveyard!
Graveyard ought to know me;
Ring, Jerusalem!
Grass grow in de graveyard;
Sing, O graveyard!
Graveyard ought to know me;
Ring, Jerusalem!"
They improvise many more words as they sing. It is one of the strangest,
most mournful things I ever heard. It is impossible to give any idea of
the deep pathos of the refrain,--
"Sing, O graveyard!"
In this, and many other hymns, the words seem to have but little
meaning; but the tones,--a whole lifetime of despairing sadness is
concentrated in them. They sing, also, "Jehovyah, Hallelujah," which we
like particularly:--
"De foxes hab holes,
An' de birdies hab nes',
But de Son ob Man he hab not where
To lay de weary head.