God rest you, merry gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay.
I have become a Wandering Wait
That sings on Xmas Day.

It was the carol of a friend,
That roused you from your bed.
It was my voice that reached your ears,
Your boot that reached my head.

God rest you, merry gentlemen,
When thus I yelled and prayed.
You rested not, and it was plain
That something you dismayed.

For shepherds watching flocks by night,
You did not care a pin;
When good King Wenceslas looked out
He hadn't a look in.

So as you scorned my vocal powers,
And all my Xmas capers,
I sank to writing verse, like this,
And working for the papers.