Browsing named entities in C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874.. You can also browse the collection for Christmas (New Mexico, United States) or search for Christmas (New Mexico, United States) in all documents.

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C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., Section Twelfth: his character and fame. (search)
l there, tremulous to every sweep of Memory's wing. In such cases, the tenderness that is still cherished, to all appearances in vain, for the departed one, takes a new direction; and the love for such a mother as Charles Sumner had, may grow dearer with each coming year. Each new silver hair, slowly stealing in among the tresses of fresher days, only clothes the head with the charm of a new consecration. A similar—nearly a parallel case—inspired these verses, addressed as a little Christmas carol, to a very venerable, but still radiantly beautiful lady, who did so much to brighten the life of the writer: So gently has Old Father Time Laid his cold fingers on thy head, I fain would ring for him another chime, For he grows young in thee—there are no dead. His fingers now seem soft and warm; The ice has melted from his frosty hand; His touch passed gently o'er thy faultless form, He must have breathed on thee from Summer Land. And so the years go harmless by thee, Leaving no s<
C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., V. (search)
l there, tremulous to every sweep of Memory's wing. In such cases, the tenderness that is still cherished, to all appearances in vain, for the departed one, takes a new direction; and the love for such a mother as Charles Sumner had, may grow dearer with each coming year. Each new silver hair, slowly stealing in among the tresses of fresher days, only clothes the head with the charm of a new consecration. A similar—nearly a parallel case—inspired these verses, addressed as a little Christmas carol, to a very venerable, but still radiantly beautiful lady, who did so much to brighten the life of the writer: So gently has Old Father Time Laid his cold fingers on thy head, I fain would ring for him another chime, For he grows young in thee—there are no dead. His fingers now seem soft and warm; The ice has melted from his frosty hand; His touch passed gently o'er thy faultless form, He must have breathed on thee from Summer Land. And so the years go harmless by thee, Leaving no s<