It's guessing time at our house; every evening
after tea
We start guessing what old Santa's going to
leave us on our tree.
Everyone of us holds secrets that the others try
to steal,
And that eyes and lips are plainly having trouble
to conceal.
And a little lip that quivered just a bit the other
night
Was a sad and startling warning that I mustn't
guess it right.
"Guess what you will get for Christmas!" is the
cry that starts the fun.
And I answer: "Give the letter with which the
name's begun."
Oh, the eyes that dance around me and the joyous
faces there
Keep me nightly guessing wildly: "Is it something
I can wear?"
I implore them all to tell me in a frantic sort
of way
And pretend that I am puzzled, just to keep them
feeling gay.
Oh, the wise and knowing glances that across the
table fly
And the winks exchanged with mother, that they
think I never spy;
Oh, the whispered confidences that are poured
into her ear,
And the laughter gay that follows when I try
my best to hear!
Oh, the shouts of glad derision when I bet that
it's a cane,
And the merry answering chorus: "No, it's
not. Just guess again!"
It's guessing time at our house, and the fun is
running fast,
And I wish somehow this contest of delight
could always last,
For the love that's in their faces and their
laughter ringing clear
Is their dad's most precious present when the
Christmas time is near.
And soon as it is over, when the tree is bare
and plain,
I shall start in looking forward to the time to
guess again.
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