The boy is fond of music, give him the drum stick.

The minister is dining with you, give him the parson's nose.

May the joy reach from grandfather, who is so dreadful old he can hardly find the way to his plate, down to the baby in the high chair with one smart pull of the table cloth upsetting the gravy into the cranberry.

Send from your table a liberal portion to the table of the poor, some of the white meat as well as the dark, not confining your generosity to gizzards and scraps.

Do not, as in some families, keep a plate and chair for those who are dead and gone.
Your holiday feast would be but poor fare for them; they are at a better banquet in the skies.
Let the whole land be full of chime and carol.