Just as he started for his sleigh
One eve, in old December,
He turned to Mistress Santa Claus
And said, “Did you remember
About that fine new Paris doll
For wee Dot in the city?
I must not fail to take that gift,
‘Twould be a dreadful pity.”

It was early in the morning,
One day in old December;
A very happy, joyous day
That children all remember,
When Santa, on his mission fleet,
To the nursery came creeping,
And left the fine new Paris doll
Among the others, sleeping.

The holly and the mistletoe
Were bright this winter morning;
One stocking filled from top to toe
The mantel was adorning.
A Christmas tree hung full with gifts,
While underneath, reposing
On an upholstered rocking chair,
The Paris doll was dozing.

Then suddenly from out the gloom
Dot’s other dolls came peeping,
Their hair uncombed, their dresses torn,
And noses red with weeping;
They talked in whispers soft and low,
But tones that grew quite scornful,
About the fate that was to greet
This stranger, sad and mournful.

There were Annabel and Bessie,
That came one cold December;
They hobbled round with broken backs
From falling on the fender.
Then Tommy, Grace, and baby Ruth,
All came one birthday party,
And Rose and Don a year ago,
With Santa Claus so hearty.

They all assembled round the tree,
And then with manners shocking
They pinched and shook the Paris doll,
And cried in words so mocking -
“Why, don’t you know, you stupid thing,
Dot won’t care for another,
She has received this Christmas morn
A dear, sweet baby brother!”

- by Mabel L. Pray

While Christmas bells are chiming, oh, may there come to you
A dear little fairy, who’s always good and true;
The little happy fairy, who drives away dull care,
And makes all things upon the earth seem ever bright and fair.

She’ll whisper to good Santa to bring what you most wish;
So if you have been longing for a fine pudding dish,
She will not, as in by-gone years, forget and bring to you
Something that you do not want, though beautiful and new.

by Winifred Sackville Stoner Jr.

Something new about Christmas?
Why, what were half so sweet
As the old, old way of keeping
The day our glad hearts greet?

The old, old chimes are dearest;
The old, old songs are best;
It’s the old, old gladness welling
Within each joyous breast.

Then my little lad said slyly,
“Remember, if that’s true,
That your old, old way, mamma dear,
Was to give me something new.”

by Alice W. Rollins