There Is A Glorious Candor In An

I'd Like A Stocking Made For A Giant, And A Meeting House Full Of Toys, Then I'd Go Out In A Happy Hunt For The Poor Little Girls And Boys; Up The Street And Down The Street, And Across And Over The Town, I'd Search And Find Them Everyone, Before The Sun Went Down.

Let My Temptation Be A Book, Which I Shall Purchase, Hold And Keep.

How Gracious Those Dews Of Solace That Over My Senses Fall At The Clink Of The Ice In The Pitcher The Boy Brings Up The Hall.

What Smells So? Has Somebody Been Burning A Rag, Or Is There A Dead Mule In The Back Yard? No, The Man Is Smoking A Five-cent Cigar.

Father Calls Me William, Sister Calls Me Will, Mother Calls Me Willie, But The Fellows Call Me Bill!.