For Unto Us A Child Is Born...

Isaiah 9:6 KJV
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By G. K. Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all aright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

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By Author Unknown

Almost two thousand years ago there was a Man
born contrary to the laws of life. This Man
lived in poverty and was reared in obscurity.
He did not travel extensively. Only once did
He cross the boundary of the country in which
He lived; that was during His childhood exile.

He possessed neither wealth nor influence. His
relatives were inconspicuous, and had neither
training nor formal education. In infancy He
startled a king; in childhood He puzzled doctors;
in manhood He ruled the course of nature, walked
upon the billows as if pavement, and hushed the
sea to sleep.

He healed the multitudes without medicine and
made no charge for His service.

He never wrote a book, and yet all the libraries
of the country could not hold the books that have
been written about him.

He never wrote a song and yet He has furnished the
theme for more than all the songwriters combined.
He never founded a college, but all the schools
put together cannot boast of having as many students.
He never practiced medicine, and yet He has healed
more broken hearts than all the doctors far and near.

Every seventh day the wheels of commerce cease their
turning and multitudes wend their way to worshiping
assemblies to pay homage and respect to Him.

The names of the past proud statesman of Greece and
Rome have come and gone. The names of past scientists,
philosophers, and theologians have come and gone;
but the name of the Man abounds more and more. Though
time has spread two thousand years between the people
of this generation and the scene of His crucifixion,
yet He still lives.

Herod could not destroy Him, and
the grave could not hold Him.

He stands in heavenly glory, proclaimed of God, as
the living, personal Christ, our Lord and Saviour.

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By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The Carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said;
‘For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!’

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
‘God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!’

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