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Most tangible of all the gods that be,
O Santa Claus– our own since Infancy!
As first we scampered to thee– now, as then,
Take us as children to thy heart again.

Be wholly good to us, just as of old:
As a pleased father, let thine arms infold
Us, homed within the haven of thy love,
And all the cheer and wholesomeness thereof.

Thou lone reality, when O so long
Life’s unrealities have wrought us wrong:
Ambition hath allured us–, fame likewise,
And all that promised honor in men’s eyes.

Throughout the world’s evasions, wiles, and shifts,
Thou only bidest stable as thy gifts–:
A grateful king re-ruleth from thy lap,
Crowned with a little tinselled soldier-cap:

A mighty general– a nation’s pride–
Thou givest again a rocking-horse to ride,
And wildly glad he groweth as the grim
Old jurist with the drum thou givest him:

The sculptor’s chisel, at thy mirth’s command,
Is as a whistle in his boyish hand;
The painters model fadeth utterly,
And there thou standest–, and he painteth thee–:

Most like a winter pippin, sound and fine
And tingling-red that ripe old face of thine,
Set in thy frosty beard of cheek and chin
As midst the snows the thaws of spring set in.

Ho! Santa Claus– our own since Infancy–
Most tangible of all the gods that be–!
As first we scampered to thee– now, as then,
Take us as children to thy heart again.