Oh, he is a fine old fellow— His heart's in the truest place; You may know that at once by the children, Who glory to see his face.
For he never forgets the children, They all are dear to him; You'll see that with wonderful presents His pockets are cramm'd to the brim.
Nor will he forget the servants, Whether you've many or one; Nor the poor old man at the corner; Nor the widow who lives alone.
He is rich as a Jew, is Old Christmas, I wish he would make me his heir; But he has plenty to do with his money, And he is not given to spare.
Not he—bless the good old fellow! He hates to hoard his pelf; He wishes to make all people As gay as he is himself.
So he goes to the parish unions— North, south, and west and east— And there he gives the paupers, At his own expense a feast.
He gives the old men tobacco, And the women a cup of tea; And he takes the pauper children, And dances them on his knee.
I wish you could see those paupers Sit down to his noble cheer, You would wish, like them, and no wonder, That he stay'd the livelong year.
Yes, he is the best old fellow That ever on earth you met; And he gave us a boon when first he came Which we can never forget.
So we will give him a welcome Shall gladden his old heart's core! And let us in good and gracious deeds Resemble him more and more!