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A Little Book Of Christmas

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A Little Book of Christmas
By John Kendrick Bangs


The Conversion of Hetherington
The Child Who Had Everything But
Santa Claus and Little Billee
The House of the Seven Santas

Four Christmas Verses

Whene'er I find a man who don't Believe in Santa Claus, And spite of all remonstrance won't Yield up to logic's laws, And see in things that lie about The proof by no means dim, I straightway cut that fellow out, And don't believe in him.

The good old Saint is everywhere Along life's busy way. We find him in the very air We breathe day after day— Where courtesy and kindliness And love are joined together, To give to sorrow and distress A touch of sunny weather.

We find him in the maiden's eyes Beneath the mistletoe,[2] A-sparkling as the star-lit skies All golden in their glow. We find him in the pressure of The hand of sympathy, And where there's any thought of love He's mighty sure to be.

So here's to good old Kindliheart! The best bet of them all, Who never fails to do his part In life's high festival; The worthy bearer of the crown With which we top the Saint. A bumper to his health, and down With them that say he ain't!


Take a quart of pure Good Will, Flavor well with Sympathy; Boil it on the fire till It is full of bubbling Glee. Season with a dash of Cheer, Mixed with Love and Tenderness; Cool off in an atmosphere That is mostly Kindliness.

Stick a dozen raisins in Made of grapes from Laughter's vine, And such fruits as you may win In a purely Jocund line. Make a batter from the cream Of Good Spirits running high, And you'll have a perfect dream Of a Merry Christmas pie!


When Santa Claus doth visit me With richly laden pack of toys, And tumbles down my chim-i-ney To scatter 'round his Christmas joys, I trust that he will bring the kind That can be shared, for it is true Past peradventure to my mind That joy is sweeter shared by two.

I never cared for solitaire. I do not pine for lonely things. I love the pleasure I can share Because of all the fun it brings. A selfish pleasure loses zest With none to share it with you by, And shrinks the longer 'tis possest, While joys divided multiply.


Slyly twinkling in the skies, Peeping from the Heaven's blue, Are a million starry eyes Smiling, Sweetheart, down on you; Peeping through the misty gauze From their little homes above While we wait for Santa Claus With his gifts of Cheer and Love. Hush-a-by, my Baby O! Santa Claus is on the way, And his sledges overflow With the sweets of Christmas Day. Lull-a-by! Hush-a-by, my Baby O.

Santa Claus is coming by With his pack of pretty toys. Fast his speedy rein-deer fly With their load of Christmas joys. Now they flit across the moon, Now they flicker o'er the gold[126]— We shall hear their patter soon On the roof-tops crisp and cold. Hush-a-by, my Baby O! Soon will sound the merry horn That will usher in the glow Of the golden Christmas morn. Lull-a-by! Hush-a-by, my Baby O.

Meet him half-way, Baby dear— Join the jolly pranksome band Of the Elf-men with their cheer Waiting there in Slumberland. Santa Claus must come along Through the dreamy vales of Sleep. There with all the Fairy throng Let us too our vigil keep. Hush-a-by, my Baby O. Haste to Slumberland away, Where the Fairy children go On the Eve of Christmas Day. Lull-a-by! Hush-a-by, my Baby O.