Blest Christmas morn, could murky clouds
Pursue thy way
Or light be born? no storm enshrouds
Thy dawn or day!
Dear Christ, forever here and near,
No cradle song,
Nor natal hour and mother's tear,
To thee belong.
Thou God-idea, Life-encrowned,
The Bethlehem babe
Beloved, adored, replete, renowned,
Was but thy shade.
Thou living gleam of deathless Love,
O little Life!
So infinite—so far above
All mortal strife,
Or creed, or earth-born taint,
Fill us to-day
With all thou art—be thou our saint—
Our stay, alway.
Copyrighted. 1898, by Mary Baker G. Eddy.
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