In Holland, children set their shoes,
This night, outside the door;
These wooden shoes Knecht Clobes sees,
And fills them from his store.
But here we hang our stockings up
On handy hook or nail;
And Santa Claus, when all is still,
Will plump them, without fail.
Speak out, you Sobersides, speak out,
And let us hear your views;
Between a stocking and a shoe,
What do you see to choose?
One instant pauses Sobersides,
A little sigh to fetch—
"Well, seems to me a stocking's best,
For wooden shoes won't stretch!"