Another Ghaismas day is here,
To cheer our hearts with wine and
Another foaming glass of beer,
Will put Tom Randle in his glory;
As er’st before, he comes again,
To say a word to all his Patrons,
And hopes to find them free from
The men, the boys, the girls, the
Twelve months ago, all firm and true,
Tow smiled beneath the Christmas
Saw hopes fade out in Seventy-Two,
How will it be in Seventy Three?
Since last, Tom sang his Christmas
The land has witnessed many
The hopes of some have moved along
To higher destinies and ranges,—
Kingdoms and States have had their
And toppled o’er in wild confusion,
Sweeping young Freedom’s hopes
In the red tide of Revolution.
But while we moan in accents true
The desolation of the free,
That which we lost in Seventy-Two,
Let us regain, in Seventy-Three!
Alas for human happiness!
Alas for human sorrow!
Our yesterday is nothingness,
What else will be our morrow?
Still men will prate, in high debate,
And carpet-baggers, steal our
Still we must struggle on with Fate,
And if not wise, we must be funny;
We’ll give our readers—not a few—
The honest doctrines of the free,
And what we said in Seventy-Two,
We’ll better say in seventy-Three!
Some Rad’ will come in Heaven’s
To the tomb all Tyrants come to,
Some Thief will wade through blood
To the Place he has no claim to,
Some suffering State will rend in
The manacles that bind her,
And take the links of the broken
And fix them proundly round her;
The grand great, the brave and
Will struggle nobly to be free,
And thought they failed in Seventy-
They’ll win the prize in Seventy-
The year that’s gone saw many things
Of direst mournfulness and sadness;
It saw the wild control of rings,
And politicians swept to madness;
It saw the great man of the North,
By Afrie’s sons most foully treated;
And every effort, put they forth,
To have their Saviour balsely chea-
They’ll feel one day, if they are true,
And wish forever to be free,
The wrong they did in Seventy-Two
They should atone in Seventy-
Great Greeley! man of black renown,
Whose merits, none enough can say,
“Twas base ingratitude, that struck
Thou moral Washington of Africa!
And tho’ the Fates did will it so,
And at thy dauntless crest let fly
The basest slanders mean and low,
God took thee up and placed thee
In the sky!
Democracy so bold and true,
Stuck nobly for thy cause and thee,
And tho’ they lost in Seventy-Two,
They’ll win in Seventy-Three!
A wail is heard, through all the land,
The nation gives a plaintive cry!
Sackcloth and ashes on every hand!
A shadow o’er the sunny sky!
Yes! Now the star-wreathed Eagle
And in the darkness folds his wing,
And lo! you lordly banner droops,
That never vailed before a King!
The nation grieves with sorrow true,
Altho’ thy ransomed spirit’s free,
The joys and hopes of Seventy-Two,
Are woes and tears in Seventy-
But life has other scenes than these,
That cling around the hearts affec-
Star light. that shimmers through
And drive; away, all dark reflec-
Tom, tho a Carrier Boy he be,
And humble as the humblest too,
Would never in his mirth and glee,
Forget his friends, so firm, so true,
Friends, wife and child, not many—
Blend smiles, with tears, beneath
the Christmas tree,
And may the tears of Seventy-Two,
Prove smiles in Seventy-Three!
But Tom must cease, enough he’s
To greet his Patrons on this
He prays for blessings on each head,
And round their footsteps, every
But ‘ere he leave you, although he’s the
One thing, he’d beg permission
now to say,
He likes all things above, to see you
And drop a few dimes long his rug-
Thanks-double thanks to all the
And treble thanks to all the free,
May all the joys of Seventy Two,
Be ten-fold yours in Seventy-three!