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A Visit from St. Nicholas

Remembering a Simpler Time



Until my father’s death in 1966, it was his tradition to read Clement Clarke Moore’s “T’was the Night Before Christmas” to us just before putting us to bed on Christmas eve.
Just after we had left milk and cookies to help fuel Santa for his long night’s work……….. It was my parent’s tradition to have the living room exactly as it was the rest of the year, so that when Santa arrived with tree and all Christmas fixing - morning would be magical for us kids. It reminds of a time when we Americans had self discipline; self respect and most of all trusted ourselves to believe that anything was possible. Nowadays, Christmastime begins the day after Labor Day. We destroyed have its magic as instant gratification has deprived us of our most prized possessions: Peace of mind and time with our families.

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Perhaps, it would be good to just take a moment and “settle our brains”. It is my sincere wish that the following poem invokes in you kinder gentler time in America when anything was possible……………because we are Americans. “'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 our brains 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, 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 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, 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."” A Visit from St. Nicholas Attributed to Clement Clarke Moore


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Otis A. Glazebrook, IV -- Bio and Archives

Otis Allan Glazebrook IV of East Hampton died at his home on March 28. He was 65.


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