All together now, baby angels, no slacking at the back there:
God rest ye merry, Chalet girls, let nothing ye despair,
Not even when you’ve boiled the clock or tilted on your chair,
Or dressed as noble savages and made the locals stare.
Oh tidings of powder in the bath
Didn’t we laugh?
Oh tidings of powder in the bath.
Remember, gentle Chalet girls, work hard and play the game,
And when you’ve Vaselined the board, stand up and take the blame,
Strive every day to be a credit to the brown-and-flame,
Oh tidings of boiling up the clock
Terrible shock!
Oh tidings of boiling up the clock.
And ever speak, ye Chalet girls, in tones so soft and low,
For gentlewomen do not shout (or shriek or screech), you know,
Pray think about what Shakespeare said so many years ago,
Oh tidings of writing out those lines
Squillions of times
Oh tidings of writing out those lines.
Dream sweet, oh blessed Chalet girls, of work and rest and play,
Of arguing effect to cause and back the other way,
Of romping 'round the mountainside and sleeping ‘midst the hay,
Oh tidings of cloves in apple pie
Give it a try,
Oh tidings of cloves in apple pie.
And when at last it’s time to leave, take memories galore,
Of Special Milk and lakes and cakes, and doctors by the score,
So send your children to the School – ‘twill thrill them to the core,
Oh tidings of countless of sets of twins,
Triplets and quinns,
Oh the measureless, the countless Bett'ny twins.