A FEEL IN THE CHRIS'MAS-AIR

They's a kind o’ feel in the air, to me.

When the Chris'mas-times sets in.

That's about as much of a mystery

As ever I've run ag'in!—

Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain in weight

And gineral health, I swear

They's a goneness somers I can n't quite state —

A kind o’ feel in the air.

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right

To the spot where a man lives at!—

It gives a feller a’ appetite —

They ai n't no doubt about that!—

And yit they's somepin’ — I do n't know what —

That follers me, here and there,

And ha'nts and worries and spares me not —

A kind o’ feel in the air!

They's a feel, as I say, in the air that's jest

As blame-don sad as sweet!—

In the same ra-sho as I feel the best

And am spryest on my feet,

They's allus a kind o’ sort of a’ ache

That I can n't lo-cate no-where;—

But it comes with Chris'mas, and no mistake!—

A kind o’ feel in the air.

Is it the racket the childern raise?—

W'y, no!— God bless‘ em!— no!—

Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze —

Like my own wuz, long ago?—

Is it the bleat o’ the whistle and beat

O’ the little toy-drum and blare

O’ the horn?— No! no!— it is jest the sweet —

The sad-sweet feel in the air.