As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird.
  And drops to the hearth like a 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.

He rides to the East, and he rides to the West,
  Of his goodies he touches not one ;
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
  When the dear little folks are done.
Old Santa Claus doeth all that he can;
  This beautiful mission is his;
Then, children, be good to the little old man,
  When you find who the little man is.

Kindle the Christmas brand, and then
  Till sunset let it burn;
Which quench'd, then lay it up again
  Till Christmas next return.