I question if Christmas can ever be “merry,”

Except to the heart of an innocent child–

For when time has taught us the meaning of sorrow

And sobered the spirits that once were so wild,

 

When all the green graves that lie scattered behind us

Like milestones are marking the length of the way

And echoes of voices that no more shall greet us

Have saddened the chimes of the bright Christmas Day—

 

We may not be merry, the long years forbid it,

The years that have brought us such manifold smarts,

But we may be happy, if only we carry

The Spirit of Christmas deep down in our hearts.

 

Hence I shall not wish you the old “Merry Christmas,”

Since that is of shadowless childhood a part,

But one that is holy and happy and peaceful,

The Spirit of Christmas deep down in your heart.

Author unknown