Lynn
19-12-2010, 11:11 PM
Christmas Spirit
By E. C. Baird
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 old glad way.
I keep romance alive in the heart of childhood, and brighten sleep with dreams woven in 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 sent to anxious LOVe some little token that releases glad tears -- tears which wash away the hard lines of sorrow.
I enter the dark prison cells, reminding scarred manhood of what might have been, and pointing forward to good days yet to be.
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 !
By E. C. Baird
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 old glad way.
I keep romance alive in the heart of childhood, and brighten sleep with dreams woven in 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 sent to anxious LOVe some little token that releases glad tears -- tears which wash away the hard lines of sorrow.
I enter the dark prison cells, reminding scarred manhood of what might have been, and pointing forward to good days yet to be.
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 !