It is the day of kindness, and for this day we're freed from all the
sordid blindness of selfishness and greed; we have a thought for
others, we'd ease their load of care; and all men are our brothers, and
all the world is fair.

This is the day of laughter, wherein no shadows fall; and 'neath the
cottage rafter, and in the mullioned hall, are happy cries ascending,
and songs of joy and peace; why should they have an ending? Why should
the music cease? The music! When we hear it, we old men softly sigh;
"Could but the Christmas spirit live on, and never die!"

This is the day of giving, and giving with a smile makes this gray life
we're living seem doubly worth the while. When giving we're forgetting
the counting-room and mart, and all the work-day fretting--and this
improves the heart; forgetting bonds and leases, and every sordid
goal--this sort of thing increases the stature of the soul!

This is the day of smiling, and faces stern and drear, on which few
smiles beguiling are seen throughout the year, are lighted up with
pleasure and eyes are soft today, and old men trip a measure with
children in their play. And graybeards laugh when pelted with snow by
springalds flung, and frozen hearts are melted, and ancient hearts are
young.

It is a day for singing old songs our fathers knew, while gladsome
bells are ringing a message sweet to you; a day that brings us nearer
to heaven's neighborhood, that makes our vision clearer for all that's
true and good.

On with the Christmas revels in cottage and in hall! While from the
starry levels smiles Christ, who loves us all!