Midnight
Nearer and nearer approached the stumbling black figure , weaving an eccentric course in and out along the line of telephone poles ; and , to their ears came the voice of one crying in the wilderness : -- '' _ O , the Midnight Son ! the Midnight Son ! -LRB- hic -RRB- You need n't go trottin ' to Norway -- You 'll find him in ev'ry doorway -- _ '' A sudden cessation of the music , coupled with certain slightly indistinct , weird contortions of the vocalist 's figure , apprised the watchers that a snow-bank had momentarily claimed him . Then , suddenly and saucily , as if without a break , the throbbing , high-pitched tenor piped up again -- '' _ You 'll behold him in his glory If you on ' y take a run -LRB- hic -RRB- Down the Strand -- that 's the Land Of the Midnight Son _ . '' Dewy eve indeed ! -- a far cry to the Strand ! ... How freakish sounded that old London variety stage ditty ridiculing the nightly silence of the great snow-bound Nor ' West .