CHRISTMAS 1843

In London Town on Christmas Day
In a house where poor folk dwell,
A family eats their meagre feast
Yet feast upon it well.
They sated sit before the hearth
Warmed too by their shared mirth;
A joyous celebration of
The Jesus Saviour's birth.

In a miners' hut on a barren moor
Four generations are met,
Decked in what they deem their best
Their 'best' is poor stuff yet.
The eldest sings a Christmas song
They join the chorus as one;
A rousing celebration of
The birth of God's own son.

Upon a reef a league from shore
A storm wracked lighthouse stands,
Within its walls two keepers sit
Then join their horny hands.
They raise their grog in a Christmas toast
Though by the waves enisled;
A quiet celebration of
The birth of Mary's child.

Upon a black and heaving sea
A lone ship far from port,
Each sailor hums a Christmas tune
Or has some Christmas thought,
Or quietly remembers
Some bygone Christmas morn;
A wistful celebration of
The day that Christ was born.

Back once more to London Town
But to a street more fair,
A house where friends are gathered
The season's joys to share.
With food & drink, with games & song
With grateful goodwill too;
A lavish celebration of
The birth of Christ Jesu.

One hundred years and sixty
Have come and gone since then,
Christmas kept in different ways
By different kinds of men,
However we keep Christmas
Be we Christian men or not
Its message of "goodwill to all"
Should never be forgot.

COPYRIGHT D M PAMMENT 2009