Barney McCoy

I am going far away, Norah, darling;
And leaving such an angel far behind;
It will break my heart in two, which I fondly gave to you,
And no other one so loving, kind and true.

Chorus:
Then come to my arms, Norah, darling,
Bid your friends in dear old Ireland goodby.
And it’s happy we will be, in that dear land of the free,
Living happy with your Barney McCoy.

I would go with you , Barney, darling,
But the reason why I told you oft before,
It would break my poor mother’s heart if from her I had to part,
And go roaming with you Barney McCoy.

I am going far away, Norah, darling,
Just as sure as there is a God that I adore,
But remember what I say, that until the judgement day,
You will never see your Barney any more.

I would go with you, Barney, darling,
If my mother and the rest of them were there,
For I know we would be blest in that dear land of the West,
Living happy with you, Barney McCoy.

I am going far away, Norah, darling,
And the ship is now anchored at the bay,
And the before tomorrow you will hear the signal gun,
So be ready – it will carry us away.

The Dying Fisherman’s Song, or He Raving of Sir Rupt

‘Twas midnight on the ocean,
Not a street car was in sight,
The sun was shining brightly,
For it rained all day that night.

‘Twas a Summer’s day in Winter,
The rain was snowing fast,
As a barefoot girl with shoes on,
Stood sitting in the grass.

‘Twas evening and the rising sun
Was setting in the West,
And all the fishes in the trees
Were cuddled in their nests.

The rain was pouring down,
The sun was shining bright,
And everything that you could see
Was hidden out of sight.

The organ peeled potatoes,
Lard was rendered by the choir,
When the sexton rang the dishrag
Someone set the church on fire.

“Holy smokes!” the teacher shouted,
As he madly tore his hair,
Now his head resembles Heaven,
For there is no parting there.

A Visit From St. Nicholas

Probably the most famous poem in the world – one that has been translated into as many languages, it is said, as the Bible, is best known as “The Night Before Christmas,” although the author, Dr. Clement Clarke Moore, called it “A Visit from St. Nicholas.”
This poem was written in 1822 and first appeared in print in the Troy, NY Sentinel in 1823. Dr. Moore was a translator of Greek and Hebrew, a noted authority on theology and the author of many books on theology – which are long forgotten, but this poem, which he worte for his two daughters, will live forever:

“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 mama 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 hte breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of midday 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 housetop the coursers they flew,
With a 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 bead of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke of 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!”