Christmas by Mrs. L. C. Whiton

 

MAMMA, what is Christmas?" How can I

say?

I will try to answer you "true as true."

It is just the loveliest, lovely day,

That is steeped in rose-color all the way through!

When miniature toy-shops in stockings are found,

That are left in the chambers without a sound;

And papa gives gifts with a tender cheer;

And brother "hurrahs for the top of the year;"

And sister looks on with her wistful eyes,

With a soft, sweet smile at every surprise:

And Christmas means this:

A little child's bliss,

And the love of the dear Christ felt like a kiss.


And a piled-up glory is hard to express;

And "What is Christmas?" is wonder for all.

It is when the earth puts on holiday dress,

Made spotless fair with snowflakes that fall;

When hearts are lavish with treasures of love,

And the pale, pure stars shine brighter above;

And the dancing firelight seems to play

In the most mysterious, haunting way;

And the house fairies wander from sweet to sweet,

With an unexplored kingdom laid at their feet:

And Christmas means this:

A little child's bliss,

And the love of the dear Christ felt like a kiss.


And still "What is Christmas?" Darling, come here.

It is meant for the birthday, "true as true,"

Of a beautiful child that was born in Judea,

That His mother loved, as I love you;

That grew up to teach you how you should seek

To be in your spirit "lowly and meek,"

And onward higher and higher to go,

Till you changed to an angel, whiter than snow;

And offered freely (that all might take)

The gift of Himself for the whole world's sake!

And Christmas means this:

A little child's bliss,

And the love of the dear Christ felt like a kiss.