Twas the Sunday of Christmas

Twas the Sunday of Christmas, when all thro’ the church, Not a baby was crying, all were in mirth.

Sunday clothes and dresses all put on with such care, Parents rushed their children to on time be there, Children were nestled in warm winter coats With warm woolen socks and scarves round their throats; And Mama in her broach, and boy in his cap, Had just settled their brains for a long sermon’s nap-When the preacher yelled and arose such a clatter, They sprang from the pews to see what was the matter.

 

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