To us the night before Christmas went all through the house, not a creature was stirring,

not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would

be there.

The children were nestled while snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced

in their heads, and Mama and her Kirchiff and I in my cap had just settled our brains

for a long winter's net.

Went out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter.

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Way to the window I flew like a flash, to open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below.

When what did my wondering eyes should appear?

But a miniature sleigh and ate tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver so lively and quick.

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his courses they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them

by name.

Now Dasher, now dancer, now prancer and vixen.

On comet, on cupid, on dunder and blixum.

To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now Dasherway, Dasherway, Dasherway all.

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the house top, the courses they flew, with a sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas

...