My sister's best feller is 'most six-foot-three

My son Hezekiah's a painter; yes, that's the purfession he's at;

Now Councilman O'Hoolihan do'n't b'lave in annixation

O, it's Christmas Eve, and moonlight, and the Christmas air is chill

O you boys grown gray and bearded, you that used ter chum with me

Oh, the cool September mornin's! now they 're with us once agin

Oh, the Friday evening meetings in the vestry, long ago

Oh! the horns are all a-tootin' as we rattle through the town

Oh, the song of the Sea--

Oh, the story-book boy! he's a wonderful youth

Oh, the wild November wind

Oh! they've swept the parlor carpet, and they've dusted every chair

Oh, those sweet old-fashioned posies, that were mother's pride and joy

Old Dan'l Hanks he says this town

On a log behind the pigsty of a modest little farm