He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
- He softly, silently comes,
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
- Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
He cuts thro’ the snow like a ship thro’ the foam,
- While the white flakes ’round him whirl.
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
- Of each good little boy and girl.
His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide;
- It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,
- With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
- Not a bugle blast is blown,
As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
- And drops to the hearth like stone.
The little red stockings he silently fills,
- Till the stockings will hold no more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
- Are quickly set down on the floor.
Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird,
- And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
- As he noiselessly gallops away.