Page:Our American Holidays - Christmas.djvu/139

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   Drink now the strong beer,
   Cut the white loaf here,
The while the meat is a-shredding;
   For the rare mince-pie,
   And the plums stand by,
To fill the paste that's a kneading.


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,