THE TORCHLIT SPRING is fading fast
Into the twilight of the past
The New Year bids us put away
The Old Year's cares and come what may.
And so Old Wenceslaus, the Crimson sage
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Once again takes pen to page
And brings to you his Christmas rhymes
With gifts appropriate to the times.
Read this verse of sparkling wit
But take no mean offense from it.
It is but a poem mere
To usher in the Holiday's Cheer
AND SO TO OUR LEADER, kind President Bok,
We'd give stockings filled with the cleanest bank stock.
Bonds that would give him a pleasant night's rest--
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