Let Christmas be the time of year that you spend with people dear.
A time for joy for all girls and boys.
A time to sing and hear the church bells ring.
A time to share and show you care.
A time to trim the tree and dance with glee.
A time to feast and share with the least.
A time for gifts and walking in snowdrifts.
Let Christmas be the time to remember Jesus paid the debt.
Take the time to praise God and stand in awe!
Poet: Grace Noll Crowell
I am so glad He was not born
In some rich palace bed.
I am so glad to know it was
A lowly place, instead,
A place where soft-eyed cows and sheep
Were sheltered and fed.
For to the country-born of earth
A stable will ever be
A wholesome place, where night comes down
With its tranquility,
A place of heart's ease and content
For all who choose to see.
And so I like to think of Him,
First opening His eyes
In that good elemental place
Beneath the friendly skies.
That the men of fields could find Him there,
As well as the great and wise.
James A. Dillion
Not to the priest in the temple of old,
Not to the king in his palace of gold,
Not to the famous - the men of the hour,
Not to the great with their might and their power;
But to the shepherds alone in the night
God sent His glorious angels of light,
Bearing their tidings, so blessed and true,
"Fear not! a Saviour is born unto you."
Not to the men who in arrogant pride
March ever on over life's surging tide;
Not to the boastful who make their life's aim
Only to seek after worldly acclaim;
But to the humble, the meek, and the low,
When in the night of great trial and woe,
God sends His Spirit to whisper anew,
"Fear not! Your Saviour abideth with you!"
Rose Terry Cooke
Here comes old Father Christmas,
With sound of fife and drums;
With mistletoe about his brows,
So merrily he comes!
His arms are full of all good cheer,
His face with laughter glows,
He shines like any household fire
Amid the cruel snows.
He is the old folks' Christmas;
He warms their hearts like wine;
He thaws their winter into spring,
And makes their faces shine.
Hurrah for Father Christmas!
Ring all the merry bells!
And bring the grandsires all around
To hear the tale he tells.
Here comes the Christmas angel,
So gentle and so calm;
As softly as the falling flakes
He comes with flute and psalm.
All in a cloud of glory,
As once upon the plain
To shepherd-boys in Jewry,
He brings good news again.
He is the young folks' Christmas;
He makes their eyes grow bright
With words of hope and tender thought,
And visions of delight.
Hail to the Christmas angel!
All peace on earth he brings;
He gathers all the youths and maids
Beneath his shining wings.
Here comes the little Christ-child,
All innocence and joy,
And bearing gifts in either hand
For every girl and boy.
He tells the tender story
About the Holy Maid,
And Jesus in the manger
Before the oxen laid.
Like any little winter bird
He sings his sweetest song,
Till all the cherubs in the sky
To hear his carol throng.
He is the children's Christmas;
They come without a call,
To gather round the gracious Child,
Who bringeth joy to all.
But who shall bring their Christmas
Who wrestle still with life?
Not grandsires, youths, or little folks,
But they who wage the strife
The fathers and the mothers
Who fight for homes and bread,
Who watch and ward the living,
And bury all the dead?
Ah! by their side at Christmas-tide
The Lord of Christmas stands:
He smooths the furrows from their brow
With strong and tender hands.
"I take my Christmas gift," He saith,
"From thee, tired soul, and he
Who giveth to My little ones
Gives also unto Me."