Twas the night before an OKState Christmas, and all through Burns' house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The orange stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hope that St. Pickens would soon be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of Frank Eaton danced in their heads.
And Gundy with his tucked hoodie and Ford with his contract had just settled down for a long winter's nap. When out on Library Lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like a flash, tore open the shudders and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new prairie snow, gave a luster of gameday to the objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a big orange sleigh with eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver so lively and rich, I knew in a moment it must be St. Pick.
More rapid than Bullet his courses they came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:
"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Mason! To the top of the porch, to the top of Gallagher Hall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As leaves that before the prairie wind fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the rooftop of the Boone they flew, with a sleigh full of toys, and St. Pickens too!
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Pickens came with a bound.
He was dressed all in orange, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were not tarnished by oil or by soot. A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler opening his sack.
His eyes, how they twinkled! His demeanor, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His sly mouth drawn up into a grin, and there was no sign of a beard on his chin.
The stump of a pipe held tight in his teeth, he drew magical "O-S-U" rings around his head like a wreath. He had a warm face and a pocket full of dough, signs of gifts upon his university he would bestow.
He wasn't chubby or plump, but a jolly old elf. And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, filled stockings with donations, then turned with a jerk. And laying a finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle. And away the all flew, like the firing of a pistol. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight: "Merry Cowboy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"