Old Mister Grump lived on a hill

In a cabin next to a giant windmill.

Once a month he came down the hill

To buy groceries and pay his bills.

His hair was long and snowy white

But his beard was black as the darkest night.

When he was out of their hearing range

Some women said, "He is a bit strange."

They were not afraid of the man, although

He carried a sharp arrow and a shiny bow.

For this Mister Grump had done no harm

To anyone in their town or on the farm.

One room of his cabin was a big old stump.

In this place he made toys, this Mister Grump.

He carved from wood dolls with smiling faces.

He carved horses with wagons and traces.

Mister Grump carved fat little birds and kangaroos.

He made little children who wore no shoes.

A name like his you would think him grumpy.

He cooked his food but his gravy was lumpy.

One summer the village wells went dry.

No one had water except Mister Grump on hill high.

The wind mill pumped water to his back door.

He had all he needed and much more.

Someone said, "There's water on that hill.

One by one folks came with buckets to fill.

"Have what you need," the old man said,

"But don’t come when it's dark and I'm in bed."

Men, women, girls and boys walked in the bright sunlight

Half-way up the hill, two boys began to fight.

"Hey, boys!" yelled Mister Grump. "Don’t step on my roses."

"If you do," said he. "You'll have broken noses."

The well was fed from a mountain stream.

Mister Grump's water was fresh, cold and clean.

Children drank it like pink lemonade.

It was the best water God had ever made.

Day after day people came walking up and down

Until the rain fell and filled the wells in town

But they never forgot the giant windmill

and Old Mister Grump who lived on that hill.

When the cold winter came, blowing snow around,

Mister Grump sat by the fire, he was snow bound.

He did not mind that the snow was deep

When it fell fast on the hill so steep.

The old man sat by the fire in his robe of tweed,

Admiring the stack of old, old books to read,

Remembering the time when his years were few

When he was a lad and a handsome one too.

From his hutch he pulled out a fiddle.

He played a tune, then sang a short riddle.

He went into the kitchen to make some bread.

While the dough was rising, he rested in bed.

Mister Grump fell asleep and he began to snore.

When he awoke dough was all over the floor.

He scooped up the dough, put it on the hearth stone

And watched the bread bake until it was done.

"My!" said he, "It's so toasty and brown.

I'm sure that I make the best bread in town."

If you can prove Mister Grump was wrong,

I'll give you a penny and sing a song.

He went into his stump room to count toys

That he had made for good girls and boys.

The red bag on the floor was quite full

Of gifts for hospital kids, their pains to lull.

Christmas Eve came, the old man was busy.

So much to do, he was almost dizzy.

He filled his station wagon to the top trim

With gifts galore, that was just like him.

He drove to the hospital not far from town.

Laid down presents by children sleeping in gowns.

And to the village he came straight back,

Stepped from his car with a red bag pack.

No child would feel forgotten on Christmas Day

For Mister Grump left each child a toy with which to play.

Then he went back to his stump room on the hill,

Threw down the empty sack next year to fill.

Mister Grump was so happy he could shout

To the night sky as the stars came out.

For Christmas had come all about

This he was sure of without a doubt.

The old man opened the cabin door and said,

"Merry Christmas to you, wonderful world!"

Then he went to sleep in his bed,

Dreaming of toys for each boy and girl.

Everyone loves Mister Grump on the high hill.

If he is living, he is up there still.