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Show ! OvllE yule log glows with a ruddy flare, j i il And there in the ingle nook, I In his broad-armed, cushioned old oak chair, On his knees an open book, j The grandsire sits in the flickering light, j And far from the printed page his Mght Is centered again on bygone days , And other forms in the yule log's blaze. I j TJ-HERE arc children there, such a merry throng, i (i And the house rings with their glee i As they chatter and laugh in game and song, ) Their young hearts fresh and free; ' Kindred and friends surround the board That is laden deep with its Christmas hoard, I And his heart beats fast and his eyes grow dim ' As he peers at the face across from him. ! 7vORGOTTEN the churchyard's silent aisles, ( Y" The rounded mounds and the flowers; 1 -pThc Christmas wraiths bring but tender smile j S) nt remembrance of happy hours. j To live in the past is the gift of age, And memory darkens the printed page. Alone? God forbid! He is living again In the lives and the loves of those who hae been i |