DEAR Lord, be good to Santa Claus,
He’s been so good to me;
I never told him so because
He is so hard to see.
He must love little children so
To come through snow and storm;
Please care for him when cold winds blow
And keep him nice and warm.
Dear Lord, be good to him and good
To Mary Christmas, too.
I’d like to tell them, if I could,
The things I’m telling you.
They’ve both been very good to me,
And everywhere they go
They make us glad;—no wonder we
All learn to love them so.
Please have him button up his coat
So it will keep him warm;
And wear a scarf about his throat
If it should start to storm.
And when the night is dark, please lend
Him light if stars are dim,
Or maybe sometimes you could send
An Angel down with him.
Please keep his heart so good and kind
That he will always smile;
And tell him maybe we will find
And thank him after while.
Please keep him safe from harm and keep
Quite near and guard him when
He’s tired and lays him down to sleep.
Dear Lord, please do! Amen.
HENRY BLAKE’S CHUM
HENRY Blake’s chum he had awful red hair,
And most of his clothes were too small;
And often and often he wore his feet bare
Until it was late in the fall.
But he would just whistle as though he had shoes,
Was never discouraged or glum;
And most any boy would be sorry to lose
A fellow like Henry Blake’s chum.
Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about trees,
And woodticks and crickets and birds,
And all of the things that a boy really sees
But can’t always tell them in words;
And he knew where fish were the most apt to bite,
And when the first blackberries come,
And how to catch birds in a trap when they light—
No wonder he’s good for a chum.
Henry Blake’s chum, he had rabbits for pets,
And crows that he taught how to speak,
And dogs that will haul you, and he often gets
A new dog or two every week.
And often he crawls up and catches a frog
Between his first finger and thumb,
Where it may be sitting alone on a log;
And my! Henry’s proud of his chum!
Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about flowers
And always could tell you their name,
And didn’t mind thunder or lightning or showers
Because he said it’s all the same
So long as you’re barefoot and haven’t much clothes.
And he knew how partridges drum,
And whistled just like a Bob White’s whistle goes—
No wonder he’s somebody’s chum.
Henry Blake’s chum, he came up from the farm,
And my! he was awful ashamed
In school not to know the big bone in your arm
Or what the equator was named.
But when it came recess we all stood about
And waited until he would come,
And he told us things we had never found out—
And my! Henry’s proud of his chum!