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In Holland, children set their shoes, This night, outside the door; These wooden shoes Knecht Clobes sees, And fills them from his store. But here we hang our stockings up On handy hook or nail; And Santa Claus, when all is still, Will plump them, without fail. Speak out, you Sobersides, speak out, And let us hear your views; Between a stocking and a shoe, What do you see to choose? One instant pauses Sobersides, A little sigh to fetch— "Well, seems to me a stocking's best, For wooden shoes won't stretch!" |