OCR Text |
Show The Benediction At first wo thought no Christmas tree this year; Our six-foot sons a year ago had dwarfed That festive show of holiday decors And reached, with ease, the highest shining star. They slept quite late, as I remember, then. At Christmas morning breakfast, they approved, With friendly condescension. After that I don't believe tliey saw it any more. So lefs depend, we said, on wreaths and bells To brighten up the house; we'll take our ease And be content; no tinsel-littered floor. No twisted strings of lights to pack away. All very fine! But who would tell that when The warm, nostalgic breath of balsam struck Our sense in that crowded little shop Twould conjure up such vivid memories? mem-ories? For, with that scent, come into swift review The Christmases of many happy years. The skirts and hose, tlie gloves and lies gave place To skates and hockey sticks, and these, in turn. To books, electric trains and still more trains, Then toys which bucked and rolled when wound with keys; Back through the days of carts and balls and drums To dwell on one the first our baby knew. How young we were! How many bright ideals Were yet untarnished by the blight of time; Just as those gaylyolored, tinseled things Which graced the tree; and like our youthful dreams Some broke to bits, some dimmed with passing years. And some were changed for new ones later on. Perhaps just one more tree we still have lights ' And dreams enough to make a brave display. So tlicre it is! Not many candy cones Are hanging from its bougfis, and those few gifts Don't make a noise, or roll across tlie floor. But, each to each, a love more strong, mature, Is wrapped in ev'ry box, and now I know The tree has done its part to make the day; That perfumed incense, born in northern north-ern wood. Has breathed a benediction on us all. H. S. Downe. Associated Newspapers WNU Features. |