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 bulges 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 hange 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, til 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 mont to the roof like a bird, and glides to his seat in the sleigh. Not a 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.
The little man might be daddy, or a neighbor or three, but always remember, the heart of Christmas is what's really meant to be.
--Author Unknown
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