The Spirit of Christmas

I enter the home of poverty,
causing pale-faced children to open their eyes wide in pleased wonder.



I cause the miser's clutched hand to relax, 
and thus paint a bright spot on his soul.



I cause the aged to renew their youth and to laugh in the glad old way.



I keep romance alive in the heart of childhood, 
and brighten sleep with dreams of woven magic.



I cause eager feet to climb dark stairways with filled baskets, 
leaving behind hearts amazed at the goodness of the world.



I cause the prodigal to pause a moment on his wild wasteful way,
and send to anxious love some little token that releases glad tears - 
tears that wash away the hard lines of sorrow.



I enter dark prison cells, 
reminding scarred manhood of what might have been, 
and pointing forward to good days yet to come.



I come softly 
into the still, white home of pain 
and lips that are too weak to speak 
just tremble in silent eloquent gratitude.



In a thousand ways
I cause the weary world to look into the face of God
and for a little moment forget the things that are small and wretched.

I Am The Christmas Spirit.

author unknown