  D’you wish to know what came to me from good ol’ Santa Claus? ’Twuz not a lot o’ nigger-toes to crack between yer jaws, Nor candy nor a jumpin’-jack fer makin’ youngsters laugh— But the present thet he give to me wuz mother’s photograph. Some how a cur’ous feelin’ seems to steal acrost my mind, Ez I look back to boyish days an’ think how good an’ kind Thet mother’s been in teachin’ me to shun the evil ways, An’ how attentive she hez been, e’en from my infant days. An’ when I think how many years she’s toiled thro’ shine and rain, An’ how she’s allus been on hand to soothe my every pain, It seems ez ef to do my best thet I could never be Half good an’ kind enough to pay fer all she’s done fer me. Perhaps you think it’s silly, but it’s jest ez I hev sed, Thet all the other presents ol’ St. Nicholas ever hed, Compared with that he give to me w’ud be but worthless chaff, Nor comfort me one half ez much ez mother’s photograph. |
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