(bows low
Santa. And so am I. My friends you well might envy me my ride to-night, with the pale moon shining overhead and the white snow gleaming beneath the feet of my fleet-footed reindeers. And the bells, what melody their little metal tongues peal forth upon the frosty air. Surely it is a subject worthy the pen of a poet; the description of a sleigh-ride on a night like this.
Santa Claus sings
SLEIGHING SONG.
To the tune of “The Village Blacksmith.”
Cling, cling, cling, cling; hark, the merry jingle; Cling, cling, cling, cling; swift it’s drawing nigh; How it makes my nerves with joy to tingle, What’s the reason why? Ancient and hoary though I be, My beard a cloud of gray, There is no other sport to me Like riding in a sleigh.
Chorus. Ancient and hoary though he be His beard a cloud of gray, He says “There is no other sport to me Like riding in a sleigh.”
Cling, cling, cling, cling: ring ye merry sleigh-bells, Cling, cling, cling, cling; on the frosty air. What tales of joy each little metal tongue tells, Joy without a care. Swift as swallows in their flight My eight fleet reindeers go, With stars above to furnish light Reflected by the snow.
Repeat chorus softly as Santa Claus exits C., followed by Footman and Coachman, the rest gazing after him.
CURTAIN.