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The Returning
Here, by the Christmas hearth, the heart remembers The loved ones, now no longer in the
flesh, Who shared with us the joys of far Decembers, Whose glances, in the fancy, shine
afresh.
Their shadowy forms surround us in our musing; Their unseen hands upon our shoulders rest;
The sense of their affection comes suffusing The unforgotten anguish of the breast.
We cannot see them, but their eyes are on us; We cannot touch them, but they touch us
still; Through joy and sorrow their deep glances scan us; They watch our lives in love
through good and ill.
Are these the spirits who have shared our living? Then still more close must be the Heart
of Love That in the climax of Creation's giving Came as a Babe, in pity from above.
The birth of God Himself in human fashion Hallows this season beyond word or thought, For
in His Birth we also see His Passion And an Atonement for his loved ones wrought.
And so enfolding all the glad endeavour In which, with the departed, we take part, We feel
God's living presence bless forever The peace of Christmas to the human heart.
Watson Kirkconnell Canada, 1951
The Christmas Tree
Armed
I am, with
Credit card, by
Christmas Club,
to meet this month
to see it through, to
make, as they say, Merry.
Rush I must, to hold the pace, I
bravely fly, from place to place, to buy,
to get, to spend, to cash, to carry.
Dazzled I, by lavish toys, for girls and boys,
chic dolls that talk, machines that walk,
and wondrous window dressings.
Wise I am, to metal trees, with guarantees,
synthetic gauds, that smell of chemists' blessings.
Joyful then my Brethren with spirits high,
do celebrate this hallowed date, with Tom and also Jerry.
Don we now a Christmas face, prepare to share,
in one small space, on our Day Off, the joys of Joe and Mary.
Sad I am, that what was once a vital cloth,
of golden warp, of crimson weft, of simple, blessed issue,
Passing here, through many hands, the selfsame strands, now
seems to be an elegant and undistinguished tissue.
Stop I will, to hold a child, to see a star, to wonder -- yes! To wonder!
To remember,
The legacy, the gift of love,
yearned into life,
and left to us,
to hold and pass,
is not gone this December.
Maggie Morley
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