A poem by Hattie Howard

Let working-clothes be laid aside,
And Industry in festal garb arrayed;
Let busy brain and hand from toil and trade
Relax at Christmas-tide.

As moments pass by dial, so
Let gifts go round the happy circle where
In giving and receiving each may share,
And mutual kindness show.

The meaning deep, like mystery,
That lies in holly-bough or mistletoe,
May thousands never fathom - yet who know
And hail the Christmas-tree.

So strong a hold on human thought
Has this glad day that seasons all the year
With the rich flavoring of hearty cheer,
It ne'er shall be forgot.

It is the milestone on life's road
Where we may lay our burdens down, and take
A look at souvenirs, for love's dear sake
So prettily bestowed.

Upon its shining tablet we may write -
If, like the good Samaritan, in deed -
A record that the angel band shall read
With impulse of delight.

And this is why on Christmas morn
The world should smile and wear its brightest glow:
Because some nineteen hundred years ago
A little child was born.

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