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While the moonbeams prattle, I hear a rattle
Of hoofs on the chimney side;
Then out on the show I gaze below,
"Hurrah! its Kris Kringle," I cried.
Then, sly as a mouse, he entered the house,
And hung up his treasures so gay.
Then out with a dash, he sped like a flash,
Into the night, and away.
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