Dear children do you know my name?
I am old "Santa Claus". I came
Down from the old North Pole this way,
To bring some presents on my sleigh.
For all good-natured girls and boys,
Must have a plenteous lot of toys.
On "Christmas morn", else we'd not hear,
Such merry shouts of Christmas cheer.
Now through the long dry Summer days
While you are busy with your plays,
Could you at "Santa" take a peep,
You'd never find him fast asleep,
But hard at work, within his shops,
Contriving marbles, kites and tops;
Wax dollies, with their long real hair;
With rattles for the babies' share.
And animals for Noah's ark,
The kangaroo, the bear, and lark;
Or making picture books so bright
Your eyes would water at the sight.
Bright painted sleds and skates by scores;
And hoops to roll about outdoors.
Work-boxes that cannot be beat;
And play-house kitchens just complete.
With golden rings for finger wear;
And ribbons for the lassie's hair.
The best of over-coats and boots;
The jolliest lot of nice warm suits;
And mittens, worked with yarn so tight,
Jack Frost could ne'er your fingers bite.
Horn, trumpet, fish hook, gun and knife,
A sight you've ne'er seen in your life.
Of Christmas trees, he has no lack;
And of nice candles such a pack;
But oh! if all you girls and boys
Could see beside these wondrous toys
The candy "Santa Claus" has got
You'd faint with pleasure on the spot.
I have not told you half the best
Of what he makes, but guess the rest.
As I was coming on my way.
All nicely bundled in my sleigh,
My reindeer gliding o'er the snow--
O'er the mountain top, and vale below.
Of presents, millions in my pack--
I heard a thump--a wack--
And off my sleigh, the runner went
And over-board old Santa sent.
If I tell you what, t'was right good fun,
A laugh is good for every one;
As for my presents, they can shake
A right good bit before they break.
While being mended is my sleigh,
I've come to say to you "Good day,"
And have a better look at you,
Than is a telescopic view.
Now children, I would have you know
I often, very often go
In my observatory where
I take my telescope and there
I look at all my children dear,
I have their names in this book here,
Their good and bad marks I reserve,
To see what presents they'll deserve.
When "Santa" goes his yearly round,
And let me see, what will be found
But some of you, my children dear,
For "Christmas" morn will soon be here
Well this is nice, that little girl,
With sparkling eye, and yellow curl,
Will have a wax doll for her share
Which says "Mama" and has real hair.
And that one there with straight brown locks,
Who never tears her little frocks,
Will have a--but I will not tell,
To let her guess would be as well.
Alas! Some bad marks now I see
But they're not black as they might be:
Some boy right over there I think,
Who soils all his white shirts with ink.
Down in his stocking--in the toe,
He'll find a--yes, a hole or so.
But what is this? A boy called Jack
Must have the best gift in the pack.
That little boy with sandy hair,
With laughing face, and eye so fair?
Yes he's the one for good and true
He studies hard the whole year through.
I'll give to him, a famous sled,
The seat and runners painted red;
With lightning speed I'll make it go
Down hills of frozen ice and snow
And if my eyes tell me aright,
There is a little girl in sight,
Who wrote to Santa, to be sure
And not forget the children poor.
And those who had no parents kind
The sick--the lame and too the blind.
What e'er you want, old Santa tell
For boys and girls, he loves you well.
Your mittens are too small my dear?
I'll make a note of that right here,
And in your stocking you will find
A pair of just the nicest kind.
That curly little lad in blue
Must have a horn, and trumpet, too.
And that fat little dumpling there,
Must have a pussycat, I declare.
But hark! Though many miles away,
I hear a call "Come to your sleigh,"
Your reindeer eight, do gaily prance,
You're losing time, you must advance.
So I must go. But it won't be long
Before my sleigh-bells' merry song
Will tinkle up above your head,
While you are sound asleep in bed.
Oh! by the way, write me a note
Which chimney has the widest throat.
And hang your stocking, with great care,
Beside the chimney--I'll be there.
Verses by Minnie Douglass
Edited by Frank J. and Linda Gail Leskovitz