We’re always glad when gift-time comes again.
Italy enters—
The sun shines fair upon our Italy,
And gives its gold to everything we see.
And when the blessed Christ-child comes each year
We worship him, and beg that he will hear
And bless us as we kneel, and so we know
We shall be happy everywhere we go.
And when again our homes we reach, there, piled,
Are lovely things sent by the holy child.