But, far above, I see the
raiser of the dead girl, and the Widow's Son; and God is good! If
Age be hiding for me in the unseen portion of thy downward growth, O
may I, with a grey head, turn a child's heart to that figure yet,
and a child's trustfulness and confidence!
Now, the tree is decorated with bright merriment, and song, and
dance, and cheerfulness. And they are welcome. Innocent and
welcome be they ever held, beneath the branches of the Christmas
Tree, which cast no gloomy shadow! But, as it sinks into the
ground, I hear a whisper going through the leaves. "This, in
commemoration of the law of love and kindness, mercy and compassion.
This, in remembrance of Me!"
WHAT CHRISTMAS IS AS WE GROW OLDER
Time was, with most of us, when Christmas Day encircling all our
limited world like a magic ring, left nothing out for us to miss or
seek; bound together all our home enjoyments, affections, and hopes;
grouped everything and every one around the Christmas fire; and made
the little picture shining in our bright young eyes, complete.
Time came, perhaps, all so soon, when our thoughts over-leaped that
narrow boundary; when there was some one (very dear, we thought
then, very beautiful, and absolutely perfect) wanting to the fulness
of our happiness; when we were wanting too (or we thought so, which
did just as well) at the Christmas hearth by which that some one
sat; and when we intertwined with every wreath and garland of our
life that some one's name.
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