Santa Claus

He comes in the night! He comes in the night!

He softly, silently comes;

While the little brown heads on the pillows so white

Are dreaming of bugles and drums.

He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,

While the white flakes around him whirl;

Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home

Of each good little boy and girl.

His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;

It will carry a host of things,

While dozens of drums hang over the side,

With the sticks sticking under the strings.

And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,

Not a bugle blast is blown,

As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,

And drops to the hearth like a stone.

The little red stockings he silently fills,

Till the stockings will hold no more;

The bright little sleds for the great snow hills

Are quickly set down on the floor.

Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,

And glides to his seat in the sleigh;

Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard

As he noiselessly gallops away.

He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,

Of his goodies he touches not one;

He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast

When the dear little folks are done.

Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;

This beautiful mission is his;

Then, children, be good to the little old man,

When you find who the little man is.