Christmas is here: 
Winds whistle shrill, 
Icy and chill, 
Little care we: 
Little we fear 
Weather without, 
Shelter about 
The Mahogany Tree. 

Once on the boughs 
Birds of rare plume 
Sang, in its bloom; 
Night-birds are we: 
Here we carouse, 
Singing like them, 
Perched round the stem 
Of the jolly old tree. 

Here let us sport, 
Boys, as we sit; 
Laughter and wit 
Flashing so free. 
Life is but short -- 
When we are gone, 
Let them sing on 
Round the old tree. 

Evenings we knew, 
Happy as this; 
Faces we miss, 
Pleasant to see. 
Kind hearts and true, 
Gentle and just, 
Peace to your dust! 
We sing round the tree. 

Care, like a dun, 
Lurks at the gate: 
Let the dog wait; 
Happy we'll be! 
Drink, every one; 
Pile up the coals, 
Fill the red bowls, 
Round the old tree! 

Drain we the cup. -- 
Friend, art afraid? 
Spirits are laid 
In the Red Sea. 
Mantle it up; 
Empty it yet; 
Let us forget, 
Round the old tree. 

Sorrows, begone! 
Life and its ills, 
Duns and their bills, 
Bid we to flee. 
Come with the dawn, 
Blue-devil sprite, 
Leave us to-night, 
Round the old tree.