Don't go too much on the sensibilities. Feelings are a mighty poor regulator when it comes to determining the necessity for hard work.
The days of the gray hairs and wrinkled brows utter few petitions to the merry god of all the happy Christmas eves; but if they asked of Santa Claus the supremest gift in all the world of men, they would implore him for one more Christmas as happy and as innocent as smiled upon them in the days of childhood long ago!
To the Lonesome Fiddle.
You needn't look so lonesome, Mr. Fiddle, hanging there
With the pretty girls about you and the pleasures every where;
For I know your heart is heaven with its music angel sweet,
And it all will go to singing at the coming of the feet!
Then don't you look so lonesome!
The happy days we'll meet;
For the Christmas times are coming
And the dancing of the feet.
You needn't look so lonesome! In your happy soul abound
All the airs of royal rapture that the golden cycles found,
And the willing fingers waiting are staying close about,
Just to pick your heart to pieces and to coax the music out!
Then don't you look so lonesome!
The laughing lips shall meet
With the mistletoe above us
And the coming of the feet!
You needn't look so lonesome! I can see you laughing there
To the tune of "Old Dan Tucker" as you drop the loads of care,
And the melodies immortal drive the troubles all away
As you spill the tender music of "My Darling Nellie Gray."