Classic Poem

If Christmas brought me nothing more,
Than a cozy chair by the open fire,
With the children playing upon the floor,
And I with a book and a well filled briar,
Or a friend or two, just to chat awhile,
And watch the little folks at play,
Recalling, too, with a tender smile,
The joys of a bygone Christmas Day;
If I had nothing more than this,
'Twould be a day of peaceful bliss.

But Christmas joys spring not alone
From selfish comforts such as these,
And man can scarce enjoy his own,
Till he has done his best to ease
The grief and pain that, everywhere,
Abides among us, so today,
My book and pipe and easy chair,
Must wait till in my humble way,
I do the things I find to do,
To make folks happy round about,
And do them all so quiet too,
That other folks won't find it out.
Enough, I think, to more than fill
Most any soul with God's Good Will.

If Christmas brought me nothing more,
Than a cozy chair by the open fire,
With the children playing upon the floor,
And I with a book and a well filled briar,
Or a friend or two, just to chat awhile,
And watch the little folks at play,
Recalling, too, with a tender smile,
The joys of a bygone Christmas Day;
If I had nothing more than this,
'Twould be a day of peaceful bliss.

But Christmas joys spring not alone
From selfish comforts such as these,
And man can scarce enjoy his own,
Till he has done his best to ease
The grief and pain that, everywhere,
Abides among us, so today,
My book and pipe and easy chair,
Must wait till in my humble way,
I do the things I find to do,
To make folks happy round about,
And do them all so quiet too,
That other folks won't find it out.
Enough, I think, to more than fill
Most any soul with God's Good Will.