Christmas Day

Sweet lady, 'tis no troubadour, That sings so sweetly at your door, To tell you of the joys in store, So grand and gay; But one that sings "Remember th' poor, 'Tis Christmas Day."

Within some gloomy walls to-day Just cheer the locks of hoary gray, And try to smooth their rugged way With cheerful glow; And cheer the widow's heart, I pray, Crushed down with woe.

O make the weary spent-up glad, And cheer the orphan lass and lad; Make frailty's heart, so long, long sad, Your kindness feel; And make old crazy bones stark mad To dance a reel.

Then peace and plenty be your lot, And may your deed ne'er be forgot, That helps the widow in her cot, From out your store; Nor creed nor seed should matter not, The poor are poor.