Here comes Christmas ancient, jolly,
Crown'd with mistletoe and holly.
Oh! the pleasure, oh! the treat,
To behold the joints of meat
With a concourse whilst we stop,
Gazing at each butcher's shop,
And the turkey-laden coaches
Thickly thronging Town's approaches;
But a crowd too numerous
Answers: "What is that to us!"
In each grocer's window, see
What a heap of spicery!
Citron, cloves and cinnamon
What a sight to look upon!
Candied orangepeel and plums,
Nutmegs, raisins, figs in drums
What delicious visions rise
Of plum puddings and mince pies!
Ah! but thousands answer thus:
"Welladay! What's that to us?"
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Some, alas, there are to whom
Christmas brings but cold and gloom,
No warm fire and no good cheer,
Though it comes but once a year.
Gentlefolks, suppose we try
If we cannot change their cry
And provide them with a reason
Thus to hail the jovial season:
"Christmas, though necessitous,
Thou art something still to us!"
Lyrics by Percival Leigh
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