Mary's Prayer

Tonight the skies are filled with
stars, stars, stars!
O God! I have never seen beauty
in such abundance!

And my heart has never beat
with such a load of praise.
If only I had the talent
of King David, then
what a psalm I would
sing for you this night!

But my thoughts tumble over themselves
as I try to understand today's news -
the news that I, a lowly maiden,
have found favor with you -
with you, who formed dry land
with a sweep of your hand,
who hurled fire from heaven
on the heads of Sodomites,
who held back the Red Sea
with the breath of your nostrils.

And yet, I know the truth
of all the angel spoke.

Miracle of miracles -
that I shall be mother
of the Messiah!
But a twinge of sadness
tugs at my heart
when I think of my
own dear Joseph.

He will not understand
this wonder, Lord.

He is too used to dealing with reality:
the smell of shavings and sawdust,
the rhythm of tireless planing,
the strength of his own strong arms
reshaping the cedars from Lebanon.

Angels and visions and impossibilities
are foreign stuff
to my carpenter.

And how shall I make him understand
that I am virgin still -
but with child!

O loving Lord,
do me this one favor:
let this miracle
be as real to him
as oxen yokes and
ax handles.

Let him know that
it is your hand -
that you, O Lord, have done it.

Almighty God,
add to this miraculous news
just one miracle more -
let Joseph believe!
~ Mary Lou Carney ~

Yuletide Halo

A Christmas tree cut in the woods,
Brought over drifting snow
With laughter, shouts, and merry songs,
And pink cheek's ruddy glow.

Green sprigs of holly, mistletoe
Trim every door and wall;
Bright leaves and sprays of bittersweet
Saved lovingly from fall.

A tang of oranges tucked away,
Of cinnamon and spice,
Drift out to vie with baking pie
So Christmasy and nice.

The fireplace shows a golden glow,
A halo, I believe,
Encircles earth and home and Heaven
On blessed Christmas Eve.
~ Dan A. Hoover ~

Santa Claus

Now this is the thing I'd like to know:
How Santa Claus can step in snow
With a world of toys upon his back
And leave not the slightest hint of a track;
How one so big and round and fat
Can slip through a hole that would choke a rat
And smoke so thick it can hide the trees,
And never even cough, nor sneeze!

Well, my child, it does seem queer,
But it's just like this: you're standing here
Thinking of things you cannot see
And wondering how such things can be.
The fact is, child, nobody knows
What Santa looks like nor where he goes,
For Santa Claus is a sprite that lives
In the heart that loves, in the heart that gives.
He may be here and he may be there,
You are likely to find him anywhere.
But really, folk are so very blind
They can't see the spirit that gives and loves,
So we picture a thing in a coat and gloves,
Like a jolly old man who is round and fat.
And we love the thing, and we look at that;
And being a spirit, through and through,
Of course, he can do what a spirit can do.

But the Santa himself we never see,
The Santa in you, the Santa in me.
~ Leigh Hanes ~

Because

I saw the candlelight's soft glow,
A gleaming path across the snow,
And through the window's filmy lace
There came a radiant subtle grace;
For Christmas trees with burning light,
Adorned to greet the holy night,
From every window, each hearthstone,
With hope's expectant gladness shown.

Oh, homes so beautiful, so bright,
Reflecting joy and peace and light,
Oh, homes that send through winter's chill
Your silent hymn of peace, goodwill,
Why do your cozy hearth fires burn,
And those you sheltered now return?
Because, to you, from heaven above
There came God's gift, God's gift of love.
~ Mary Stoner Wine ~

What is Christmas?

What is Christmas?
Can you guess?
Time to spread some happiness,
Children trying extra hard,
Folks remembered with a card,
Hearth fires burning warm and red,
Bright star shining overhead,
Preparations being made,
Special music softly played.

What is Christmas?
Come and see
Decorations on the tree,
Homemade cookies, candy canes,
Lovely stained-glass windowpanes.
See the wreath upon the door;
sacred signs appear once more -
Life-size creche or tiny scene,
Lighted tapers, tall and lean.

What is Christmas?
Gifts to share,
Touch of winter in the air,
Carols sung and Christmas plays,
Celebrating many ways,
Trimming trees with ball and twine,
Pungent fragrance of the pine,
Holly, mistletoe and bell -
All these add their magic spell.

What is Christmas?
Peace and joy,
Memories for each girl and boy
Strengthen family ties once more,
Greet the stranger at the door.
Prayer and praise are lifted high
Over church spires to the sky.
Christmas shared is never gone;
Love itself will linger on.
~ Alice Leedy Mason ~

Greetings from Santa

He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes,
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
Who tells him, I know not, but he finds the home
Of each good little boy and girl.

His sleigh, it is long, and deep, and wide;
It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,
With the sticks under the strings.
And yet, not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is blown,
As he mounts to the chimney top like a bird
And drops to the hearth like a stone.

The little red stockings, he silently fills,
Till the stockings will hold no more;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down on the floor.
Then Santa Claus mounts to the roof like a bird
And glides to his seat in the sleigh;
Not a sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.
~ Author Unknown ~

In the Week Christmas Comes

This is the week when Christmas comes.

Let every pudding burst with plums,
And every tree bear dolls and drums,
In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every hall have boughs of green,
With berries glowing in between,
In the week Christmas comes.

Let every doorstep have a song,
Sounding the dark street along,
In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every steeple ring a bell,
With a joyful tale to tell,
In the week when Christmas comes.

Let every night put forth a star,
To show us where the heavens are,
In the week when Christmas come.

Let every stable have a lamb,
Sleeping warm beside its dam,
In the week that Christmas comes.

This is the week Christmas comes.
~ Eleanor Farjeon ~

Voices in the Mist

The time draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.
Four voices of four hamlets round,
From far and near, on mead and moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:
Each voice four changes on the wind,
That now dilate, and now decrease,
Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.
~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson ~

True Christmas Spirit

On Christmas Eve, a young boy with light in his eyes
Looked deep into Santa's, to Santa's surprise
And said as he sat on Santa's broad knee,
"I want your secret. Tell it to me."

He leaned up and whispered in Santa's good ear
"How do you do it, year after year?
I want to know how, as you travel about,
Giving gifts here and there, you never run out.

How is it, Dear Santa, that in your pack of toys
You have plenty for all of the world's girls and boys?
Stays so full, never empties, as you make your way
From rooftop to rooftop, to homes large and small,
From nation to nation, reaching them all?"

And Santa smiled kindly and said to the boy,
"Don't ask me hard questions. Don't you want a toy?"
But the child shook his head, and Santa could see
That he needed the answer. "Now listen to me,"

He told that small boy with the light in his eyes,
"My secret will make you sadder and wise.
The truth is that my sack is magic inside,
It holds millions of toys for my Christmas Eve ride.
But although I do visit each girl and each boy
I don't always leave them a gaily wrapped toy.

Some homes are hungry, some homes are sad,
Some homes are desperate, some homes are bad.
Some homes are broken, and the children there grieve.
Those homes I visit, but what should I leave?

My sleigh is filled with the happiest stuff,
But for homes where despair lives toys aren't enough.
So I tiptoe in, kiss each girl and boy,
And I pray with them that they'll be given the joy
Of the spirit of Christmas, the spirit that lives
In the heart of the dear child who gets not, but gives.

If only God hears me and answers my prayer,
When I visit next year, what I will find there
Are homes filled with peace, and with giving, and love
And boys and girls gifted with light from above.

It's a very hard task, my smart little brother,
To give toys to some, and to give prayers to others.
But the prayers are the best gifts, the best gifts indeed,
For God has a way of meeting each need.

That's part of the answer.
The rest, my dear youth,
Is that my sack is magic. And that is the truth.
In my sack I carry on Christmas Eve day
More love than a Santa could e'er give away.

The sack never empties of love, or of joys
Cause inside it are prayers, and hope. Not just toys.
The more that I give, the fuller it seems,
Because giving is my way of fulfilling dreams.

And do you know something?
You've got a sack, too.
It's as magic as mine, and it's inside of you.
It never gets empty, it's full from the start.
It's the center of lights, and love. It's your heart.

And if on this Christmas you want to help me,
Don't be so concerned with the gifts 'neath your tree.
Open that sack called your heart, and share
Your joy, your friendship, your wealth, your care."

The light in the small boy's eyes was glowing.
"Thanks for your secret. I've got to be going."
"Wait, little boy," Said Santa, "don't go.
Will you share? Will you help?
Will you use what you know?"

And just for a moment the small boy stood still,
Touched his heart with his small hand and whispered,
"I will."
~ Author Unknown ~

Marmion

Heap on more wood! – the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,
We’ll keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deem’d the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer:
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain;
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew;
Then in his low and pine-built hall
Where shields and axes deck’d the wall
They gorged upon the half-dress’d steer;
Caroused in seas of sable beer;
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown
The half-gnaw’d rib, and marrow-bone:
Or listen’d all, in grim delight,
While Scalds yell’d out the joys of fight.
Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,
While wildly loose their red locks fly,
And dancing round the blazing pile,
They make such barbarous mirth the while,
As best might to the mind recall
The boisterous joys of Odin’s hall.

And well our Christian sires of old
Loved when the year its course had roll’d,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all his hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night;
On Christmas Eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas Eve the mass was sung:
That only night in all the year,
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dress’d with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry-men go,
To gather in the mistletoe.
Then open’d wide the Baron’s hall
To vassal, tenant, serf and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside
And Ceremony doff’d his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose;
The Lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of ‘post and pair’.
All hail’d, with uncontroll’d delight,
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide;
The huge hall-table’s oaken face,
Scrubb’d till it shone, the day to grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn,
By old blue-coated serving-man;
Then the grim boar’s head frown’d on high,
Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-garb’d ranger tell,
How, when, and where, the monster fell;
What dogs before his death to tore,
And all the baiting of the boar.
The wassel round, in good brown bowls,
Garnish’d with ribbons, blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard by
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;
Nor fail’d old Scotland to produce,
At such high tide, her savoury goose.
Then came the merry makers in,
And carols roar’d with blithesome din;
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note, and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery;
White shirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visors made;
But, O! what maskers, richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
‘Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale;
‘Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man’s heart through half the year.
~ Sir Walter Scott ~

The Gift of the Animals

In a rude stable cold,
The friendly beasts,
their stories told:

"I," said the donkey,
shaggy and brown,
"carried his mother
up hill and down.
Carried her safely
to Bethlehem town."

"I," said the cow
all white and red,
Gave him my manger
for his bed,
Gave him my hay
to pillow his head."

"I," said the sheep,
with the curly horn,
"Gave him wool
for his blanket warm;
He wore my coat
on Christmas Morn."
"I," said the camel,
all yellow and black,
"Over desert, upon my back,
Brought him a gift
in the Wise Man's pack."

"I," said the dove,
"from my rafter high,
Cooed him to sleep,
that he should not cry,
We cooed him to sleep,
my mate and I."

And every beast,
by some good spell
In the stable darkness,
was able to tell
Of the gift he gave
to Emmanuel.
~ Robert Davis ~

The Gift of Love

A wreath hangs over our mantle -
Its pine-scent fills the air,
A Santa Claus doll, over fifty years old
Stands next to my easy chair.

'Tis late Christmas eve, my family's at rest,
The end of a joy-filled day -
Warmth from the fire, burning low in the hearth,
Sends my thoughts drifting far away.

I envision a child and a stable,
His bed a manger of hay -
A mother humming a soft lullabye,
And I bend my head to pray.

I can almost see the Wise Men -
Who'd traveled from distant lands -
Guided by a brilliant eastern star
Bearing precious gifts in their hands.

I can almost hear what those Shepherds heard,
Tending sheep on a nearby hill -
The voices of Angels lifted in song -
A hymn of peace and good will.

I ponder what brought those Shepherds,
And those Wise Men of Temporal worth -
To a stable outside of Bethlehem
To attest this lowly birth.

The Prophets, I've heard, wrote of His birth -
Some said as a King He would reign -
Bring peace to the earth, dispell all war,
Rid the earth of its grief and pain.

But the Child, full grown, spoke only of Faith -
"Do good to each other", He said,
"And if a man smite thee? Stay thy hand.
Give love in return instead."

His teachings inflamed the whole of mankind
And though on a cross He died -
He lives in the hearts of those who believe -
Though often their Faith is tried.

I end my prayer by giving thanks
To the Lord who reigns above -
Accepting the gift He sent with His son -
The gift of Eternal Love.

Oh I'm sure that in all the years to come -
There'll always be gifts and toys -
There'll always be Santa and Christmas trees,
And lots of parties and noise.

But no matter what creed or faith we espouse -
There's hope for the coming years -
If we will just share the gift of love
as Christmas day draws near.
~ V. Beverly Rogers

The Christmas Spirit

I am the Christmas Spirit
I enter the home of poverty,
Causing pale-faced children to open their
Eyes wide in pleased wonder.

I cause the miser's clutched hand to relax,
And thus paint a bright spot on his soul.

I cause the aged to renew their youth
And to laugh in the glad old way.

I keep romance alive in the heart of childhood,
And brighten sleep with dreams woven of magic.

I cause eager feet to climb dark stairways
With filled baskets, leaving behind hearts
Amazed at the goodness of the world.

I cause the prodigal to pause a moment on his wild,
Wasteful way, and send to anxious love some little token
That releases glad tears -
Tears which wash away the hard lines of sorrow.

I enter dark prison cells,
Reminding scarred manhood of what might have been,
And pointing forward to good days yet to come.

I come softly into the still, white home of pain,
And lips that are too weak to speak
Just tremble in silent, eloquent gratitude.

In a thousand ways I cause the weary world
To look up into the face of God
And for a little moment forget the things
That are small and wretched.

I am the Christmas Spirit.
~ Author Unknown ~