Our American Holidays - Christmas/Santa Claus

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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.