But where I found the children naughty, <br />In manners rude, in temper haughty, <br />Thankless to parents, liars, swearers, <br />Boxers, or cheats, or base tale-bearers, <br /> <br />I left a long, black, birchen rod, <br />Such as the dread command of God <br />Directs a Parent's hand to use <br />When virtue's path his sons refuse.<br /><br />Clement Clarke Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-santeclaus/
