I question if Christmas can ever be “ merry” Except to the heart of an innocent child; For when time has taught us the meaning of sorrow And sobered the spirits that once were so wild, When all the green graves that lie scattered behind us Like milestones are marking the length of the way, And'echoes of voices that no more shall greet us Have saddened the chimes of the bright Christmas Day; We may not be merry, the long years forbid it, The years that have brought us such manifold smarts, But we may be happy, if only we carry The Spirit of Christmas deep down in our hearts. Threefold is the Spirit, thus blending together The faith of the shepherds who came to the King; And, knowing naught else but the angel’s glad message, Had only their faith to His cradle to bring; The hope of the wise men that rose like the Daystar, To lighten the centuries’ midnight of wrong; And the love of the Child in the manger low-lying, So tender and patient, so sweet and so strong. Hence I shall not wish you the old “ Merry Christmas,” Since that is of shadowless childhood a part, But one that is holy and happy and peaceful, The Spirit of Christmas deep down in your heart. Annie Johnson Flint
Coptrighted. Reprinted bo permission, Evangelical Publishers, Toronto, Canada,
Made with FlippingBook HTML5