Christmas Story Author Supported Education of the Blind
By Jeanne McClellan
“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house / Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
This beloved poem, that is recognized by children all over, was written 200 years ago by poet and author Clement Clarke Moore. He is the son of Benjamin and Charity Moore and was born in 1779 in New York. His parents were people of means and his father was an academic and minister, and Moore grew up in privilege.
He himself became a collegiate educator. In addition to his many appointments and accomplishments he was a professor and taught at Columbia College, now Columbia University. He was on the Board of Directors for the New York Institution for Education of the Blind from 18840-1850, the school now known as the New York Institute of Special Education. Initially located in Manhattan and later the Bronx, it was founded in 1831, and was the first of its kind in New York.
Moore was also a prolific poet and author who wrote several anthologies of his poems. ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, official title, “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” was penned in 1823, but was published anonymously. It was not until 1837 that Moore laid claim as its writer.
Controversy exists to this day as to the authorship of the whimsical rhyme. While Moore claims it as his, and indeed published it in one of his anthologies, recent scholars speculate that the true credit goes to a poet named Henry Livingston Jr. We may never know the truth!
Nevertheless, the poem is a timeless composition that we all know and love. Parents and grandparent should read it with your little ones, for all to enjoy. Happy Holidays to all!
Enjoy the full poem below.
A Visit from St. Nicholas
By Clement Clarke 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!" fly,
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!
About the Author:
Jeanne McClellan was born and raised in Royal Oak, Michigan, earned a master's degree in psychology, and worked for approximately 30 years as a counselor and social worker until she retired in 2009.