Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except for a squirrel:

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The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there

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The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads
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When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter

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When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny grandkids:

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As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound

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A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack

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His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry

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He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly:

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He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself

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A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread

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He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk

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And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose

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But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!
