Santa Claus, His Address

Hallo, my good people! What’s all this collecting?
Of young folk & Old folk? What are ye expecting?
Has ‘lection come back for a final correcting?
But no, ‘tisn’t that; for I see with my staunch eyes
The lasses & matrons, deprived of their franchise
And lads not of age, are all here, & so jolly
I guess it’s a meeting to hang Melancholy
What! Ho! Do I see? It is, it’s my tree!
Why bless you, you rogues! You anticipate me!
I thought I’d slip down before twelve & perhaps
You wouldn’t detect me unloading my “traps.”
What’s that? Boy – Your watch says it’s midnight already?
Let’s see. I declare! Does she run? Is she steady?
Her movement’s all right! Fact then I must hurry
Or the children all over “this section” will worry!
I’ve come from a region of glaciers & icicles
Where people ride sledges, (or sleds) & not bicycles;
“Bi-ćycles?” Well have it so; Boston is national
But my tree is the growth of a soil more emotional
A tree of delight, of a frank breezy joy,
Like the dance of a girl, & the shout of a boy!
Trees are there whose boughs you might well like to feed in,
Good enough for a hint of that orchard in Eden;
The apple, the pear, the peach & pomegranate,
The orange & fig tree to gladden our planet;
And trees like the holly whose bright berries glow,
Like sparks of unquenchable fire, in the snow.
There’s the tree Yggdrasil with its branches in heaven,
Its roots down in Hela, by tempest unriven,
The Norse Tree of Life, the White Ash,—ever oarsman
Knows the taste of it well! It may suit the long-shore-man
Not me! and at last there’s the tree that ne’er got moss,
The twelve-fruited tree that St. John saw in Patmos.

For fruits multitudinous, never deluding us,
In midwinter swarming with “goodies’ like bees!
I’ve a budget of them, not so big as a steeple
With all sorts of knick-nacks for all sorts of people.
I’ve white knives & black knives, & skates [?] that will drag ‘em
So swiftly that nothing but lightning can “tag” ‘em;
I’ve little soap-piggies, & dollies as big as 
A live “truly baby”, & such funny jiggers
As jumping-jacks, engines that go off with triggers.
And steamboats and horse-cars, & something that whizzes,
And then, for the Misses I’ve such dainty Roses
Their taste is the token of what a thing bliss is!
Don’t dodge me, as I were a mouse or a “boogas”
They’re done up in parcels & all made of sugar!
I’ve sleds, slates, jewels & books, & beautiful
Pictures & cards for the loving & dutiful
And a hundred things other, that only to mention 
Were too much detention from happy possession.
So, here’s to your Welcome with no more digression!
     A right Merry Christmas
     A jolly good Christmas
A blessed new Christmas to each & to all,
For none are too big & none are too small
To share in our golden festival!
May the joy be bright this memorial night,
May your faces glow with the hallowed light
That over the Shepherds of Bethlehem shone
And down through the ages hath flashed to our own
From the bed of the Wonderful Baby whose birth
Woke “Glory to God! & Good Will upon Earth!”