Wouldn’t you think of the shivering forms
Out in the cold and the wind and the storms?
Wouldn’t you think of the babies who cry,
Pining in hunger and cold till they die?
Blessed old Nick! I was sure, if you knew it,
You would remember, and certainly do it;
This year, at least, when you open your pack,
Pray give a portion to all who may lack;
Then if you chance to have anything over,
Bring a small gift to your friend—Kitty Clover.