The Christmas Stocking.

A poem by Lizzie Lawson

"I DON'T believe that Santa Claus will come to you and me,"
Said little crippled Nell, "a'cause, we are so poor you see;
And then I don't believe the 'chimbley's' wide enough for him,
D'ye think that Santa Claus will come, when all the lights are dim."
"Of course he comes to every one, dear, whether rich or poor;
Now go to bed dear Nell," said Nan, "he'll come to-night I'm sure."



I don't know if by chimney or if by stair he crept,
But sure enough he visited the room where Nelly slept.
He brought a golden orange, and a monkey red and blue,
That climbed a little wooden stick in a way I couldn't do.
He hung them in Nell's stocking, and Nan was right, be sure,
That Santa Claus loves every one however rich or poor.

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