Pockets full of gold;
Plums and cakes for Polly's stocking.
More than it can hold.
Pudding in the great pot, Turkey on the spit,
Merry faces round the fire,—
Sorrow? Not a bit!
Sing a song of Christmas!
Carols in the street,
People going home with bundles
Everywhere we meet.
Holly, fir, and spruce boughs
Green upon the wall,
Spotless snow upon the road,—
More about to fall.
Sing a song of Christmas!
Empty pockets here;
Windows broken, garments thin,
Stove all black and drear.
Noses blue and frosty,
Fingers pinched and red,
Little hungry children going
Supperless to bed.
Sing a song of Christmas,—
Tears are falling fast;
Empty is the baby's chair
Since't was Christmas last.
Wrathfully the north wind
Wails across the snow;
Is there not a little grave
Frozen down below?
Sing a song of Christmas!
Thanks to God on high
For the tender hearts abounding
With His charity!
Gifts for all the needy,
For the sad hearts, love,
And a little angel smiling,
In sweet heaven above.
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