He’s a pretty brisk chap, is Father Chris— The fastest old driver that ever drove— Has millions of parcels, and never a miss, Though he covers the whole earth at once, by Jove!
The wireless has nothing on this Old Dad (His reindeer are faster than that, by far); He scatters the gifts that maketh glad As the lightning kisses from star to star.
If you are lucky on Christmas Day I (And surely, surely, you all must be), You will spy him coming the same old way— Laden with treasures for you and me.
But—soon as you see him he’s gone again (Didn’t I tell you he’s fearfully fast?) And you’ll look a second time all in vain— As all of us do for joys that have passed.
Permanent link to this item
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TCP19361217.2.55.2
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Taranaki Central Press, Volume IV, Issue 311, 17 December 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)
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129Untitled Taranaki Central Press, Volume IV, Issue 311, 17 December 1936, Page 1 (Supplement)
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