The very bells, perchance, which tolled their fathers to the clay.

And now, good night! and I shall dream that I am with you all,
Watching the ruddy embers gleam athwart the panelled hall;
Nor care if I dream or not, though severed by the foam,
My heart is always in the spot which was my childhood’s home.

Here comes old Father Christmas,
  With sound of fife and drums;
With mistletoe about his brows,
  So merrily he comes!
His arms are full of all good cheer.
  His face with laughter glows,
He shines like any household fire
  Amid the cruel snows.
He is the old folks’ Christmas;
  He warms their hearts like wine;
He thaws their winter into spring,
  And makes their faces shine.
Hurrah for Father Christmas!
  Ring all the merry bells!