A Poem by Edgar Guest

AT CHRISTMAS

A Man is at his finest towards the finish of the year;

He is almost what he should be when the Christmas

season is here.

Then he's thinking more of others than he's thought

the months before,

And the laughter of his children is a joy worth

toiling for.

He is less a selfish creature than at any other time;

When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close

to the sublime.

When it's Christmas, man is bigger and is better

in his part:

He is keener for the service that is prompted

by the heart.

All the petty thoughts and narrow seem to vanish

for awhile

And the true reward he's seeking is the glory

of a smile.

Then for others he is toiling and somehow it

seems to me

That at Christmas he is almost what God wanted

him to be.

If I had to paint a picture of a man I

think I'd wait

Till he'd fought his selfish battles and had put

aside his hate.

I'd not catch him at his labors when his thoughts are

all of pelf,

On the long days and the dreary when he's

striving for himself.

I'd not take him when he's sneering, when he's

scornful or depressed,

But I'd look for him at Christmas when he's shining

at his best.

Man is ever in a struggle and he's oft

misunderstood;

There are days the worst that's in him is the

master of the good,

But at Christmas kindness rules him and he puts

himself aside

And his petty hates are vanquished and his heart

is opened wide.

Oh, I don't know how to say it, but somehow it

seems to me

That at Christmas man is almost what God sent him

here to be."

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Merry Christmas!

Love All Ya All,

Barb