If I could have my wish to-night it would not be for wealth or fame,
It would not be for some delight that men who live in luxury claim,
But it would be that I might rise at three or four a. m. to see,
With eager, happy, boyish eyes, my presents on the Christmas tree.
Throughout this world there is no joy, I know now I am growing gray,
So rich as being just a boy, a little boy on Christmas Day.
I'd like once more to stand and gaze enraptured on a tinseled tree,
With eyes that know just how to blaze, a heart still tuned to ecstasy;
I'd like to feel the old delight, the surging thrills within me come;
To love a thing with all my might, to grasp the pleasure of a drum;