When the Christmas spirit springs to life
In the human heart each year,
The world becomes , for a little time,
A haven of love and cheer.
The poor in body are clothed and fed,
And the lonely know once more
The warmth of hearing a welcome knock
On a too long silent door.
For those few days we remember well
That all mankind is kin,
Bound by the love of the Babe who found
No room in that long-ago inn.
But the day goes by, and the spirit dies,
So busy with living are we,
And the poor and the lonely are left once more
In hunger and apathy.
I have been guilty too, God knows,
Too busy to lend a hand,
To busy to stop for a friendly chat,
Too busy to understand.
“No more, no more let this happen to me,
Dear Lord,” I earnestly pray.
“Let me keep the spirit the whole year through
As bright as it is today.”