Yale's own Whiffenpoofs serenade the travelers at Grand Central Terminal

"The early Germans considered the Norse Hertha, or Bertha, the goddess of

domesticity and the home. During the Winter solstice houses were decked with

Fir and evergreens to welcome her coming. When the family and the serfs gathered

to dine, a great altar of flat stones was erected and here a fire of Fir boughs was laid.

Hertha descend through the smoke, guiding those who were wise in Saga lore to

foretell the fortunes of those persons at the feast. Heretha's altar stones became

the hearthstones of the home. We learn from this story of Hertha the reason why

Santa Claus comes down the chimney instead of in at the door."

-- from 1001 Christmas Facts and Fancies by Alfred Carl Hottes

'It was about the deep of night,

And still was earth and sky,

When 'neath the moonlight dazzling bright,

Three ghosts came riding by.

Beyond the sea, beyond the sea,

Lie kingdoms for them all:

I wot their steeds trod wearily --

The journey was not small.

By rock and desert, sand and stream,

They footsore late did go:

Now like a sweet and blessed dream

Their path was deep with snow.

Shining like hor-frost, rode they on,

Three ghosts in earth's array:

It was about the hour when wan

Night turns at hint of day.

O, but their hearts with woe distraught

Hailed not the wane of night,

Only for Jesu still they sought

To wash them clean and white.

For bloody was each hand, and dark

With death each orbless eye --

It was three Traitors mute and stark

Came riding silent by.

Silver their raiment and their spurs,

And silver-shod their feet,

And silver-pale each face that stares

Into the moonlight sweet.

And he upon the left that rode

Was Pilate, Prince of Rome,

Whose journey once lay far abroad,

And now was nearing home.

And he upon the right that rode

Herod of Salem sate,

Whose mantle dipped in children's blood

Shone clear as Heaven's gate.

And he these twain betwixt that rode

Was clad as white as wool,

Dyed in the Mercy of his God

White was he crown to sole.

Throned amid a myriad Saints in bliss

Rise shall the Babe of Heaven

To shine on these three ghosts, I wis,

Smit through with sorrows seven.

Babe of the Blessed Trinity

Shall smile their steeds to see:

Herod and Pilate riding by,

And Judas one of three.'

The Three Traitors, by Walter de la Mare

The Oxford Book of Carols, 1928

Days 'til Christmas