Ever since last December,
When you may remember
I paid you a visit at dear Elsinore,
There's not been a minute
With a resting-place in it,
And my nose has not once been outside of the door.
My shop has been going,
My bellows a-blowing,
My hammers and tongs and a thousand odd tools,
Never give up the battle,
But click, bang, and rattle
Like ten million children in ten thousand schools.
Dear me, but I'm weary!
And yet, my small deary,
I read all the letters as fast as they come;
If I didn't,—good gracious!
The house is not spacious,
And the letters would soon squeeze me out of my home.
"I would like a nice sled,
And a dolly's soft bed,
With a night-gown and bed-clothes of pretty bright stuffs,
And paints, and a case
Where my books I may place,
And besides all these things, Dolly's collars and cuffs."
That's a pretty big list!
But may I be kissed
On the back of my head by a crazy mule's hoof,
If the list I don't fill,
Though it takes all the skill
Of every stout workman beneath my broad roof.
"Hans, Yakob, and Karl!
Let me not hear a snarl,
Or a growl, or a grumble come out of your heads;
To work now, instanter!
Trot, gallop, and canter,
And finish this job ere you go to your beds!"
So I set them to work
With a jump and a jerk,
And everything's finished in beautiful style.
Christmas Eve's here again,
And I'm off with my train,
Every reindeer prepared for ten seconds a mile.
I shall slip down the flue
With this letter for you,
So softly, for fear I your slumbers might break.
Not a word will I speak,
But I'll kiss your soft cheek,
And be gone in a jiffy, before you awake.
Should you find I've forgot
Any part of the lot
That I ordered prepared and all marked with your name,
Let me just add a word,
So if that has occurred,
You will know just exactly how I was to blame.
The fact is, my dear,
As I go, year by year,
Up and down these straight chimneys, while you are in bed,
The bumps and the scratches
That Santa Claus catches
Have rubbed all the hair from the top of his head.