The Gift of Love
by V. Beverly Rogers

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

'Tis late Christ-mas 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 lullaby, 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, dispel all war, Rid the earth of it's 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 Christ-mas 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 Christ-mas day draws near.





God's Own Son
Author Unknown

As Mary rocks her baby boy
She's filled with sadness, filled with joy
She looks upon that tiny face
And sees the hope of every race.

Her heart is filled with a mother's glow
And she never wants to let him go.
She'll see him run and laugh and play
And longs to keep him safe each day.

His life won't be an easy one.
His destiny hard, as God's own Son.

Mary sees the miracles he'll perform.
The lepers healed and free from scorn.
The lame will walk, the blind will see.
She sees his love will set us free.

And then she sees him on a cross.
She feels his pain and feels our loss.
She knows his life must come to this.
She sheds a tear and gives a kiss.

So as Christ-mastime draws near
And we are all so "busy" here.
With shopping, baking, trees of green
Let's ask, what does this really mean?

Let's take a moment from the fuss,
And think of all their gifts to us:
A mother's love, a baby boy,
Peace and comfort, love and joy.

For he was born for everyone,
His destiny, God's only Son.





He's Just a Child
Michael Hwozdecki

He looked for all the word to be the same as all the rest
No one could tell from his shirt and jeans the qualities he possessed
He walked the way the others did
Enjoyed their favorite shows
He talked the same, he walked the same
Matching jacket with a crest

The adults in his path dismissed him as a child
He's not of value, not worth the time in fact he's just too wild
He's in the way, his music's loud, his prattling's incessant
Why doesn't he take his skateboard home
And for a change do something pleasant

No one sees the hurt look on his face
Or feels his void inside
He's too young to have feelings that hurt
Not a man to have known pride

Yet in the darkness of his room the walls alive with clutter
He cries out to anyone who'll care for him and remove him from the gutter
His Mom's not home, his Dad long gone
His sister's on the street
He's all alone in loneliness
His situation's bleak

But through it all there shines a light
And moves to be with him
A voice of calm says he's so strong
He's been heard above the din

And in the dark the angels come and bring him to the light
The Lord then lifts him, and his teary eyes are filled with pure delight
Your are mine my child, there is none like you
You are more precious than all their gold
You have a wisdom in your youth
A uniqueness to your soul

As of this day you are set free
No more like all the rest
You see you are a child of God
You are the very best

© Copyright 1997-99, Michael Hwozdecki, Hwozdecki, M@EM.AGR.CA





His Time
by Michael Hwozdecki

How he loved the Christ-mas season
The lights, the crispness of the air
He stayed just a little longer in the shops now
The children lit up the isles with the anticipation of the day

He was filled anew with a sense of wonder
His heart was light now as the world embraced the hymns he loved so much
The heels of his snow boots hardly touched the ground as he walked
He was as warm as yule log filled fireplace
Angels he had heard on high
They touch him as the park opened up before him
He wasn't exactly sure of it but something seemed to lift him at the elbows
The wind played with his thick white locks

How the boys and girls loved it when he came by
The stories they would tell their folks
The tales they spoke of, where on earth did they hear such wonderful stories
When had they taken the time to read these things

Oh well, all things are possible at Christ-mas time
Perhaps the there really could be magic in the season
But back to their adult responsibilities
He would smile, the corners of his eyes almost creasing with mischief

He made his rounds at the care centre and left with humble gratitude
The shut-ins and lonely spoke to their care givers about their friend
Some nurses felt sad, some didn't hear at all, when they spoke of their elderly caller
He must have come, if at all, on someone else's shift
He stopped to study the shapes of the icicles that pointed to the newly fallen snow
He took a moment in appreciation for the carefully crafted angels in the thick whiteness
They were as alive to him as he was to them and they were glad to see him
The volunteers at the soup kitchen were glad to have an extra pair of hands that day
It was the evening of the day when the light begins to reclaim the darkness back from the world
There was a stillness to the air when he was called back, it was time to rest
"It truly is Our season", spoke his friend upon his return
"Well done My faithful servant,"
He just smiled
How They loved the Christ-mas season

© Copyright 1997-99, Michael Hwozdecki, Hwozdecki, M@EM.AGR.CA





The Infant
by Walter Stuck

Gently say His name make no
harsh sound,
He is so very small cannot
be found,
In turbulent thought where love
is lost.
Gently look at him do
not accost.
Behold His yearning to embrace both
you and I
Yet far too often we do make
Him cry.
In the Virgin Mother's arms we see
Him smile,
Happy to have found refuge for
a while.
When at last in triune Glory
descending from above
In infinite splendor amid His
gentle dove,
Shall He find just fragments of His
most precious love.
Gently say His name...

When love triumphs
All heaven rejoices and
God's glory manifests itself
In forever new splendor.
For love is immortal
And like the brightest beam
Of light it dispels all darkness.

© Copyright 1999 Walter Stuck, wstuck@istar.ca





I Wish
by Maxine Crossley

I wish I could see how it was that night,
I've prayed about it before.
I'd like to feel and know and see
The night angels opened heaven's door.
I know the words that were sung.
They are recorded in Holy Writ.
But the music itself, how did it sound?
If I could hear just a little bit.

The shepherds, I'd like to see them too,
Hasting down from the quiet hill.
Did they really know exactly where to go?
Or did they search and search until....

I'd like to see Mary so special, so pure,
And Joseph so honorable and so good.
How choice to meet them, to see them myself,
Oh, if only I could.

And the baby, I know just how he would be.
His small face shining with a Godly soul.
Oh, if only, if only I could see.
Someday I will, on Father's scroll.





Jest 'Fore Christ-mas
by Eugene Field

Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,
Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!
Mighty glad I ain't a girl-ruther be a boy,
Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!
Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake-
Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-ache!
'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,
But jest 'fore Christ-mas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;
First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!
Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,
'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!
But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,
He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,
An' then I laff and holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"
But jest 'fore Christ-mas I'm as good as I kin be!

Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,
I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan...
But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,
Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know
That Buff'lo Bill an' cowboys is good enough for me!
Excep' just 'fore Christ-mas when I'm as good as I kin be!

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still
His eyes they keep a-saying': "What's the matter, little Bill?"
The old cat sneaks down off her percen an' wonders what's become
Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!
But I am so perlite an' tend so earnestly to biz,
That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"
But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me
When, jest 'fore Christ-mas I'm as good as I kin be!

For Christ-mas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,
Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;
So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's an q's,
An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, an' don't wear out yer shoes;
Say, "Yessum" to the ladies, and "Yessur" to the men,
An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;
But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree,
Jest 'fore Christ-mas be as good as yer kin be!





Journey of the Magi
by T.S. Eliot

"A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter."
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation,
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky.
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,

Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.





Keeping Christ-mas
by Henry van Dyke

There is a better thing than the observance of Christ-mas Day,
and that is Keeping Christ-mas.

Are you willing to forget what you have done for other people
and to remember what other people have done for you?

To ignore what the world owes you,
and to think what you owe the world?

To admit that the only good reason for your existence is
not what you are going to get out of life,
but what you are going to give to life?

Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs
and desire of little children?

To remember the weakness and loneliness
of people who are growing old?

To stop asking how much your friends like you?
and ask yourself whether you love them enough?

To try to understand what those who live
in the same house with you really want,
without waiting for them to tell you?

To make a grave for your ugly thoughts
and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open?

Are you willing to do these things even for a day?
Then you can keep Christ-mas.

Are you willing to believe that love
is the strongest thing in the world
stronger than hate, stronger than death
and that the blessed Life which began in
Bethlehem nineteen hundred years ago is the image
and brightness of eternal love?

Then you can keep Christ-mas.





The legend of the Sand Dollar
author unknown

There's a pretty little legend
That I would like to tell
Of the birth and death of Jesus
Found in this lowly shell.

If you examine closely,
You'll see that you find here
Four nail holes and a fifth one
Made by a Roman's spear.

On one side the Easter lily,
Its center is the star
That appeared unto the shepherds
And led them from afar.

The Christ-mas poinsettia,
Etched on the other side
Reminds us of His birthday,
Our happy Christ-mastide.

Now break the center open,
And here you will release
The five white doves awaiting
To spread Good will and peace.

This simple little symbol,
Christ left for you and me
To help us spread His Gospel
Through all eternity.





The Lesson
by Terri Maguire

Yesterday, I rode the train
down to the city
I shopped all day
And admired the way
Christ-mas looked so pretty

I took a carriage ride through town
Stuffed my belly with a hearty meal
Saw St. Nick at Marshall Fields
And enjoyed the Christ-mas sounds

A woman with a little boy came near
Her eyes began to fill with tears;
Her hands were brittle and icy cold
The shabby mother wasn't very old

"What is the meaning of Christ-mas?" she asked.
To think a stranger would test me so!
She waited patiently
While I pondered bitterly
It dawned on me, I didn't really know

Embarrassed was I,
When I looked in her eyes
And realized she wasn't what I'd thought
I froze in shame knowing my day
Had been spent worry
About what I had bought

An angel whispered "Jesus" to me
As I shamefully looked back up at her
Then I saw His caring face,
He gave me a loving, forgiving embrace
And a vision of the cross
He'd so bravely endured

"Thank you," I said, as I lowered my head
He gave me this word of advice
"Remember my birth, remember my death
It was for you, I paid the price."

"I will," said I, as I started to cry,
Then the mother and the boy reappeared
"Have you any money for a poor little child?"
"Of course I will help you and your little dear."

"God be with you," she said to me
As I handed her the gift
My heart pounded hard
I felt His strong love
And my spirits began to lift

"Merry Christ-mas!" I called to them
As they walked into the diner there
She waved a happy hand,
Shielding the little man
I'd forgotten how good it feels to care

Then back on the train, it started to rain
The angel whispered, "You did good today."
I smiled to myself, feeling my new wealth
Vowing to henceforth change my ways

A kindling warmth filled me inside
It was for us
He was born, lived and died!
We must never forget
Without a doubt
This is what
Christ-mas is all about





Let's Take the "X" Out of "Christ-mas"
by Cyril W. Wommac

Let's take the "X" out of "Christ-mas"
And let's put Christ in again.
The day's the birthday of a King,
Not that of an unknown man.
The tinsel, the glitter, the glamour,
The noise of the parties gay
Have all but obscured the reason
That we celebrate the day.
We surely would not write "X-ian"
For the Christians here on earth,
Then why do many write "X-mas"
For the day of the Saviour's birth?
It's an honor that really is due Him
O'er that to a common man,
So let's take "X" out of "Christ-mas"
And let's put Christ in again.





Little Jesus
Francis Thompson

Little Jesus, wast Thou shy
Once, and just so small as I?
And what did it feel like to be
Out of heaven, and just like me?
Didst Thou sometimes think of there,
And ask where all the angels were

I should think that I would cry
For my house all made of sky;
I would look about the air,
And wonder where my angels were;
And at waking 'twould distress me
Not an angel there to dress me.

Hadst Thou ever any toys,
Like us little girls and boys?
And didst Thou play in heaven with all
The angels, that were not too tall,
With stars for marbles? Did the things
Play 'Can you See Me ? ' through their wings ?

Didst Thou kneel at night to pray,
And didst Thou join Thy hands, this way?
And did they tire sometimes, being young,
And make the prayer seem very long?
And dost Thou like it best, that we
Should join our hands to pray to Thee?
I used to think, before I knew,
The prayer not said unless we do.
And did Thy Mother at the night
Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right?
And didst Thou feel quite good in bed,
Kissed, and sweet, and Thy prayers said?

Thou canst not have forgotten all
That it feels like to be small;
And Thou know'st I cannot pray
To Thee in my father's way
When Thou wast so little, say,
Couldst Thou talk Thy Father's way?

So, a little Child, come down
And hear a child's tongue like Thy own;
Take me by the hand and walk,
And listen to my baby talk.





Lo, How a Rose
unknown

Lo, how a Rose e're blooming, from tender stem hath sprung.
Of Jesse's lineage coming, as men of old have sung.
It came a flowerette bright, amid the cold of winter
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah 'twas foretold it; the Rose I have in mind
In Mary we behold it, the virgin mother kind.
To show God's love aright, she bore to men a Savior
When half spent was the night.

Many years ago, I was part of a choir that toured Europe in the month of January. One day, while
visiting Salzburg Austria, our group was passing through a snow covered park. It had not snowed in a
few days, and the days had gotten pretty warm. But during the night, temperatures fell well below
freezing, turning the melted snow into clear ice.

In one flowerbed, the retaining rocks had formed a nice catch basin for the water runoff, and there,
preserved perfectly in about two inches of clear ice, was a silver-dollar sized yellow flower. It
looked as fresh as on a spring day, but it was in the middle of a block of ice.

Whenever I hear "Lo How a Rose," I think of that flower. There, amidst the cold of winter, a flowerette
bright sprang. The imagery will always stay with me, and I think of how this person, named Jesus, was
born into a similar situation.

The world we live in, left to its own nature, is a cold world indeed. Sin and error freeze and isolate us
humans from the promise of new life, like a flower frozen in ice. But Jesus, God who became Man, was
born as a rose amidst the cold. He is a promise of new life, that can overcome the ice of sin, and melt
it away, once and for all.

When Mary, the virgin mother, gave birth to Jesus, mankind entered a new era. Jesus was then, and
remains today, the one true Savior who can free us from sin. By overcoming death, Jesus showed us the
extent to which God was willing to go to reach out to us: and by rising from the grave, God gave us,
through Christ, hope for everlasting life. He does that by asking for one simple thing. God wants us to
believe. That's all we really need to do: believe that Jesus is who He says He is, and believe that He
conquered death. That's an amazing proposition, especially considering the source. God cares about us? That is astounding! Yet it is true.

This Christ-mas, remember that Jesus is more than just a baby in a manger. Remember His words,
remember His acts, but most of all, remember His Sacrifice and ultimate victory over death.
Without it, there can be no true joy in Christ-mas. See the Rose, and accept His gift of Life!





The Magi
by Alta Craw Williams

The wise men scanned the distant night-blue sky.
They were men born to a life of quest,
And they watched for a promised sign while others scoffed:
"Nothing good will come out of Judea,
And no star shall arise."
"We shall see the brightness of a great new light.
The sign will come.
We shall follow where it leads
And find the Prince who is worthy to be served."
Friends looked on with strange and alien eyes
And said, "Vain dreams bring no money.
You are chasing shadows."
But the wise men heard only the call
Of age-old times
Saw only the diamond star.

All night long the three men traveled.
They shared their food
The stars at night.
How close men grow when caused to share a purpose!
They drank from the same springs,
Shared the ever-eager urge to attain their goal.
They traveled late into the night,
Rose much earlier than the sun.
They covered rocky slopes, level plains, and fertile fields;
They followed silver rivers.
They would not be deterred.

They scanned the distant night-blue sky.
They rode through stubble fields and groves of trees.
They watched the sun go down each day
Its crimson spires up and spreading color
Through the rays of gold.

At last the perfect star pulsed in the east.
Their jars of frankincense and myrrh and box of gold grew heavier
With each passing night and day.
Yet they followed
Till at last they found the Holy Child
In his mother's arms.

No longer need they scan the distant night-blue sky.





Making The New Year A Stepping Stone
by Helen Steiner Rice

Whatever the new year has in store
Remember there's always good reason for
everything that comes into our life,
For even in times of struggle and strife
If we but lift our eyes above
We see 'our cross' as a gift of love....
For things that cause the heart to ache
Until we feel that we must break
Become the strength by which we climb
To higher heights that are sublime...
So welcome every stumbling block
And every thorn and jagged rock,
For each one is a Stepping-Stone
To a fuller life than we've ever known,
And in the radiance of God's smiles
We learn to soar above life's trials...
So let us learn to accept what the new year brings,
Seeing the Hand of God in All things,
And as we grow in strength and grace
The clearer we can see God's face.





The Meaning of this Day
author unknown

When homes are gay with holly wreaths,
With mistletoe and pine,
While childish hearts sing out with joy,
In faith that is sublime.
While gala packages are heaped
Beneath the Christ-mas trees,
And snowflakes lightly flutter down
In twilight's playful breeze.

While logs are heaped upon the flame,
While music low and sweet,
Fills halls and stairs and upper rooms
With joy that's most complete.
While festive boards are heaped with food,
And candles gleam and glow,
While greeting cards and messages
Come from the ones we know.

While many white-robed choirs sing,
While heads are bowed in prayer,
And tears escape, in loneliness
For one who is not there.
While all these things and many more.
Help make our season gay,
Let us remember, in our joy,
The meaning of this day.





Minstrels
by William Wordsworth

The minstrels played their Christ-mas tune
To-night beneath my cottage-eaves;
While, smitten by a lofty moon,
The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,
Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,
That overpowered their natural green.

Through hill and valley every breeze
Had sunk to rest with folded wings:
Keen was the air, but could not freeze,
Nor check, the music of the strings;
So stout and hardy were the band
That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.

And who but listened?--till was paid
Respect to every inmate's claim,
The greeting given, the music played
In honour of each household name,
Duly pronounced with lusty call,
And "Merry Christ-mas" wished to all.





A Mother's Christ-mas Wish
by Suzanne Dean

Come dear family, gather 'round our Christ-mas tree;
Let us spend a little time in love and harmony.
Tomorrow we will celebrate the birth of Christ our Lord,
But I've a wish this year to see it's meaning's not ignored.

The gifts are neatly set about with names and tags and bows.
And Christ-mas goodies are in sight, the stockings are in rows.
But as I look into your faces, what I wish to see.
Is a love for Christ our Savior, not "What's Santa bringing me?"
Each time one of you were born and laid here in my arm,
I thought about the Christ child in the manger safe and warm.
I thought of how His life began, and all the things He taught.
I thought of how He died for us--that death could conquer not.

I wonder how His face would look, if these gifts to Him we gave
A shirt, a train, a story book, which of these would He save?
I think He'd rather see us give kindness to each other,
To say our thanks and give our love to Him, our oldest brother.

So, as the colored Christ-mas lights are blinking in your heads,
I hope to find you each with love, kneeling at your beds,
And giving Him a birthday wish that will be sure to please:
Just vow to love your fellow man, and promise from your knees.

Then in the morning when you pass your Christ-mas gifts around,
Give the gift of love and joy, let true peace here be found.
For Jesus will be here to join, He's told us so, you see.
"If you do it unto the least of these, you do it unto Me."






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