It is not Christmas, no, ’tis not,
But Midas Time, when happy wealth
Hands gifts to loved ones on the spot,
And sweet of joy and spice of health
Are lifting loved one’s lips a lot!
The tinseled tree-limbs’ sparkling lights
But tell of gayest might most rare,
As eyeballs shine on ribboned sights
Of packages half-tossed in air,
Then opened up for smiling heights.
Not time for Christian sacrifice,
But gain of grand things glad to see,
To woo, to play with—oh, so nice!
To dance like Midas, proud to be,
Enriched by presents’ perfect price!
It is not Christmas, no, it ain’t,
But Midas Time of hailing cheer,
When being hasn’t one complaint,
Unless it’s flying kisses dear
That land and land until one faint!
With sleighbell “Ting!” of rich new day
We celebrate this Midas Time
Of boldest virtue’s jingling sway
And glowing play of golden rhyme
In mouths of mirth up-roused to say,
“It’s Midas Time for work well done,
For sweet of joy and spice of health,
For master deeds of plans well spun,
And profits sealed in piles of wealth
That flash our triumphs to the sun!”